


Take This Waltz

by wolfdogmcu



Series: Stucky [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But outcomes and the likes are altered, Dry Humping, Fluff, Frotting, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rating subject to change, Rutting, Set across different times, Some features of the canon are still in place, Stucky - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfdogmcu/pseuds/wolfdogmcu
Summary: Oh my love, oh my loveTake this waltz, take this waltzIt's yours now, it's all that there isJealousy was a bad look on Bucky; he hadn't expected it to clamp its jaws on him so hard. After all, when Steve was just a weedy little Brooklyn kid, there wasn't much of a chance he'd see him successfully fall in love. Now, he was Captain America - the patriotic dream and fantasy of every girl across the country. His eyes seemed to be on Peggy; this dance was too much.From the 1940s, to the modern day,  the love and loyalty between the two Brooklyn Boys remained unbreakable.Inspired by the song Take This Waltz by Leonard Cohen.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566961
Comments: 30
Kudos: 85





	1. There's a lobby with 900 windows

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been in progress for quite a while, and is still under way. The frameworks are largely done, as is most of the plot.  
> While it adheres largely to canon (especially regarding signpost events), it diverges often. The chapters do not directly follow one another, each being set in the respective time chronologically. It is somewhat a snapshot style.  
> Feedback would be much appreciated, as this has been a labour of love for a while.

These dances weren’t uncommon. Bucky had been here many a time, mostly with Steve in tow, and it would be the brunette who had a date. Sometimes, it was neither of them, and they’d sit quietly and drink, exchanging stories of Bucky’s time on the front line. All in all, it was good, aside from Steve’s occasional gripes about a lack of his own date. Every time that came to pass, Bucky assured him that ‘he was his date for the night’, and in particularly drunk and playful evenings, they would even dance together. 

Things changed when Steve had his serum. Or, more specifically, when Steve got closer to Peggy. Bucky sat by the bar, watching as they talked and danced and generally  _ bonded _ . Perhaps it was unreasonable to feel so sick to his stomach about this, but he couldn’t shake that feeling. In a Pavlovian way, Peggy made him angry. Swallowing the last of his brandy, he wandered out into the courtyard for a smoke.

A waltz haunted him from the dancehall, as he took a drag and stared off into the growing dark. He considered, momentarily, that this was how Steve must have felt, when Bucky had a girl on his arm. But then again, he didn’t expect Steve to have ached so deeply. This wasn’t jealousy regarding attention; he was  _ not  _ jealous of him. No, Bucky had become immediately, undeniably jealous of Peggy.

He tried to rationalise for a while. It was just that his friend wouldn’t have as much time for him. It was one thing that he had become ‘Captain America’ and all the pretty girls hounded after him, but it was another that he seemed to be falling hard for Peggy. Bucky just missed his friend. He was no nancy boy. Putting his cigarette out on the wall, he wandered back inside. 

Steve appeared to be looking for him, and he tried to plaster on his best smile. He was gritting his teeth so hard it sent a pain through his jaw.    
“Where’d you head to?”    
“Smoke,” Bucky tipped his head in the direction of the door, “Needed fresh air.”   
“Those two things are _ exact  _ opposites.”   
“Well, what can I say?” He shrugged, wandering towards the bar with Steve in tow, “What happened to ‘Miss America’?” 

The tone he spoke in was bitter, without his full intention. Steve paused in his pursuit briefly, before striding after Bucky - it was considerably easier to do than when he was tiny.   
“What’s your problem?” Steve bit, instinctively defensive of Peggy.    
“Nothing,” The brunette snarled back, signalling another drink, “Nothing, I just don’t see what’s so great about her.”   
“You don’t even  _ know  _ her, Buck, but y’know what? That’s fine. I don’t need you to like her. Hell, she’s not even my girl. I know you’re used to having all the attention but--”

Bucky reared his head with a dark leer on his features. Balling his hands into fists, he found his jaw clenched once more. He shouldn’t say anything, and he definitely shouldn’t punch Steve - which was on his mind - but a rage was building in him.   
“You have no right to be jealous about this,” Steve asserted, standing over his friend, “How the hell do you think I felt? You had anything, anyone.”   
“I’m not jealous of _ you. _ ” 

Silence. A tense, uncomfortable silence. Bucky huffed, looking away: in the direction of the door again. He should leave; he wanted to go. Steve was still standing over him, in his way, with a fury in his eyes. If only this was pre-serum Steve, who Bucky could easily bowl over in a punch - the tables really had changed. He stepped aside, trying to edge around him; his wrist was seized tightly, and he tried to tug it back.

“What do you mean by that?” Steve tightened his grip.   
“I meant what I said, I’m not jealous of you. Let me go.”   
“Then what’s your problem? What you got against her?”   
“I don’t  _ have  _ a problem. Let me go, Steve, please,” The grip was hurting, and he swallowed hard. They were drawing attention.   
“Outside. Now.” 

The blonde dragged his friend out into the courtyard, and then further until they were down the side of the building, where they were alone. Desperately, Bucky fought against the vice of Steve’s hand on his arm. Suddenly, he was shoved against the wall, staring up at the man who had, very clearly, had enough of all of this. 

“What’s your problem?” Steve didn’t ease off any, not until he saw Bucky’s lip quivering, and tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His tone softed, “Buck?”   
“I’m not jealous of  _ you _ , alright?” He hissed, voice shaky from the tightness in his throat, “I’m not… Steve, I don’t…”  
Letting go of him, Steve stepped back, tilting his head with a furrowed brow, “Then why don’t you like her? You’ve hardly spoken to her, she hasn’t done anything to you, right?”

Despite trusting Peggy, he was having doubts exclusively from the man’s reaction. He was hesitating far too long, and he couldn’t bring his gaze up to Steve. Never once had Bucky actively hidden anything from him.   
“Don’t make me say it,” Bucky’s words fell in a defeated mewl, “Please.”  
Now, Steve was actively worried, an avalanche of disastrous thoughts crashing through his brain. His ears were filled with a quiet sob, and he gently grazed a hand over Bucky’s cheek.

“Bucky, you know you can talk to me.”   
“Not about this.”   
“Bucky,” Steve slid his hand so he could lift his head by the chin, “I promise you, whatever you say, I can handle it.”   
A silence, then he muttered a strained, “I’m jealous of  _ her _ .”  
“Oh.”   
“I’m sorry.” 

Forcing his head back from Steve’s hand, the soldier edged away slightly. He only snuck the barest glances towards his face, feeling a distinct, sickening shame.  _ Great _ , he thought,  _ he’s going to think you’re some pansy, and that’s you gone. Goodbye Bucky.   
_ But, as he was in these panicked thoughts, he felt the hand return to his cheek, and his head tilted back towards Steve’s. Bucky was trying to force back the sobs that worried at his throat, and the tears that spilled from his eyes.

He felt a calloused thumb over his bottom lip, and fingertips on the corner of his jaw. Steve was staring at him with tears in his own eyes, and a softness to his gaze. After sneaking a glance, making sure no one saw, he pressed his lips gently against Bucky’s, stroking his cheek with his index finger. Bucky was initially frozen in shock, but when his body came back to life, he anchored himself to Steve with a hand on his shoulder. They exchanged a few more kisses, before Steve pulled away to check their surroundings.

“Why?” Bucky eventually choked out, eliciting a snort from Steve.   
“ _ Why _ is your question, Buck? Really? You’re an idiot, you really are.”    
He was evidently still puzzled, and the fluster he was in wasn’t helping his thinking.   
“If you’d just talked to me about this, none of this would’ve been a problem. Peg and I are just good friends. Women aren’t my thing.”    
“So you’re a gay?”   
Creasing a brow, he responded, “Yes, Bucky. That’s why I kissed  _ you _ , also a gay.”

They both cracked up, which was a relief on Steve’s part. It wounded him deeply to see Bucky so hurt, and the tone being lightened from the prior sombre hostility was a welcome change. He cupped the man’s face again, stealing another kiss, this time much deeper. Bucky’s arms wrapped around his neck, as the Super Soldier pushed him against the wall. He lightly bit at his top lip, gaining a quiet whine in response. 

He’d wanted to do this for a long time, for maybe as long as he had known Bucky. His feelings had only intensified over the years, bringing a constant stab as he saw the man flirt his way through many a relationship. Every time Bucky had a girl on his arm, he wished to be that lucky woman. With the serum, everything felt  _ more _ . From his strength, to his emotional responses, to his feelings for Bucky. This was catharsis; this was heavenly. 

Steve was pushing against him now, a little heavily, as a hand found the small of Bucky's back. The wall behind scratched him, but it was a worthwhile sacrifice for this. He pulled him close, as Bucky's tongue swept his lips and he responded with a groan. Music from inside faintly danced on the air about them, and for a moment, this felt like a dream. The pair were growing more needy, more frantic, as years of repressed feelings were finally coming forth. Bucky's fingers lost themselves in Steve's hair. Steve's grip on his back pulled him flush against him.

Fireworks lit the sky with a booming, resounding roar. Steve pulled away. A cloud of speech was filling the courtyard, and people were swarming outside to watch the sky. Bucky looked up at him sadly; they would have to cut this short. One last kiss, soft and sweet, and they made their way back to everyone. 


	2. There's a shoulder where death comes to cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titles are lyrics from the song, but not necessarily in the order they happen - rather, how they fit the chapter  
> Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

No one expected this to be a clean cut execution of the mission, but things fell into chaos at record pace. It was a close call when Bucky was trapped in that carriage, when his ammo ran out and he could do nothing but hide around the cargo. Steve came through and saved him. Barnes’ first instinct was to make light of the situation -  _ “I had him on the ropes.”  _ It alleviated a moment of tension. His heart was in his throat. They weren’t blessed with even a second to relax.

Panicked, Steve caught sight of the blaster, yowling at Bucky to get down. A hole tore through the metal of the train, taking Barnes out with it. His shocked cry gave the  _ ‘Howling’ _ in  _ ‘Howling Commandos’ _ a new meaning. The Captain took the first instance he could to make his way out of the gap, clinging to the bar. Bucky was still there, barely, eyes blown wide with fright. 

Steve couldn’t breathe. The mountain air was thin and frosty, but that was nothing compared to the chill the wracked him when it happened. Bucky fell. He had been clinging so tightly to the edge of the train for nought. Steve begged for him to take his hand, reaching out, but the bar gave way before he had a chance and Steve watched him plummet.    
With that, his whole world collapsed. 

That scream slammed about in his skull. The violence of the sound tore through his body, shredding up his serum enhanced heart. Guilt swallowed him whole. He screwed his face up as the sobs hit him with the force of the train that he clung to. This was his fault. Steve hissed, gritting his teeth, choking slightly. Beneath his clenched hands the metal of the bar warped. This was undeniably his fault.

Bucky followed him to this war. Not because he was a soldier, not because he wanted to protect his country, but because of Steve. His loyalty was his literal downfall. In just a few seconds the person who meant everything to him was gone. His love, his support, his Bucky, was gone. Suddenly, it was like all purpose drained from him. For a while, Steve was frozen in his grief, holding on to the side of the train and strangled by sobs. 

And when he was in that blitzed bar, he couldn’t take in Peggy’s words. Drawn to the rubble with its place as where the Howling Commandos were enlisted, he wished to drink it all away. Damn serum. He’d burned it off faster than he drank it, and was left reeling in his misery. She offered platitudes - assurances that it was not his fault.

“Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.” 

If only she knew. Trust as he might in the agent, not a soul - not even Peggy - knew about his relationship with Bucky. It was a risk he could not take. But that left him in an isolating position - he couldn’t talk about it, not honestly. Bucky  _ had  _ thought he was worth it, so worth it that he followed him to his death. His stomach was churning. He took another sip of his drink. Wallowing in self pity would do nothing, and mourning could never bring back the dead. Peggy pushed that point to him.

Anger struck him, and he crushed the glass in his fist. It stung like barbs, sticking into the skin, but he couldn’t care less. The feeling was muted; it didn't matter to him. With a harshness to his voice that had never found itself there before, Steve swore that he would kill them. All of them. HYDRA, and their men, and the Nazis. He would destroy them. Peggy assured: he wouldn't be alone in this feat.

But he couldn't do it.

Steve couldn't destroy it all, or truly avenge the man he loved so dearly. And so, when the plane came crashing into the sea, and the water invaded his lungs, he let it. The suicide mission was a risk worth taking. The Captain fed Peggy false reassurances down the phone until it cut off. He couldn’t care less if the ocean swallowed him whole. With Bucky, he’d made plans. They talked of all the things they would do together when the war was over. 

Not a single one of those would come to pass. He would never be able to take Bucky out on a real date that wasn’t somehow masked as  _ ‘pals having drinks’ _ . There was no possibility of lying together in a real bed, with a good quilt, taking in the soft light of the sunrise in the post-war peace. No more kisses. No more brushing the back of Bucky’s hand for a moment of contact to soothe any swell of doubt or anxiety he had. 

When Steve succumbed to the ocean freeze, he was engulfed with thoughts of his lost lover. Consciousness slipped to the sound of fireworks and the faint one-two-three of a waltz. 

His eyes blinked open and immediately closed again as the light stung him. Everything was fuzzy. Steve’s ears were ringing, the sound fading out into a mumble of tinny speech. It dissolved into commentary - the ‘41 Dodgers’ game. Cool breeze rolled over his skin as he sat up. A hospital room. Sterility struck the air.

The Soldier tried to take it all in. The walls were a washed-out white, with a stripe of wainscoting in an unsettling olive green. His eyes set on the radio; it had a familiar look to it. Steve grit his teeth. Aside from ‘in a hospital room’, he had no idea where he was. A woman came in, but didn’t give him the answers he wanted. In fact, it seemed he was expected to play placid. At the first opportunity, he bolted. 

Before he knew it, Steve was staggering confused about the busy roads of Time Square. His head pounded with the noise, the cars, the lights. SUVs swarmed him, and out stepped a man with an evidently insincere apology.    
“We wanted to break it to you slowly.”    
The blonde screwed his face up slightly, overwhelmed by the surroundings, “Break what?”   
“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years.” 

All of the fright filled frustration dropped from his face, replaced instead with shock and bewilderment. Seventy years. He didn’t know what to do with this information. Truthfully, he wasn’t prepared to deal with living. Steve did his duty, and bowed out as gracefully as you could in a crashing plane. He was back from the dead.    
“You gonna be okay?”    
“Yeah, I just… I didn’t plan to be here is all.” A hollow chuckle choked his lungs.


	3. And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> Thanks to my best pal starkholmes for listening to me ramble about aspects of this, and special thanks to Kaori for the comments left on the previous chapters!

Steve was still learning the ropes of this time. Waking up to a whole new life was daunting, with things having come so far as to erase a great deal of his former ‘40s lifestyle. Wherever he went, he carried a notebook, ready to jot down anything he felt he needed to know more about. So much had changed, and though he'd started making connections amongst the Avengers, and in Sam, there was a lingering sense of isolation. 

It was all well and good waking up to this world and resuming his role as Captain America, but he had left so much behind. He had left the love of his life behind. Living without Bucky felt wrong. His life hadn't been devoid of loss admittedly, and he knew that eventually the ache would subside enough to reach a livable point, but he wasn't there yet.

Bucky was his world. He was his everything. He would have done anything he could for that man, even at the cost of himself. And he knew Bucky would do the same - he  _ did _ . They shared a bond so deep that Steve doubted he could fully convey it to anyone. He blamed the serum to some extent for his part in it, and though it certainly had an effect on it all, he knew it was more than that.

When it came down to it, he had always loved Bucky. From when they were dumb kids in Brooklyn, to the present day where he continued to mourn him. Steve would never be able to shake the heartbreak he felt when his lover fell from that train. He blamed himself: how couldn’t he? Barnes would have followed him to the ends of the Earth - and he let him take that risk. 

He let him come with him on that mission. Steve’s own risks lead to his boyfriend’s death. There wasn’t even a proper way to mourn it at the time; they were wrapped up in the war, and living in a culture that would have wished he fell from that train too had they known the extent of the relationship.

Drinking it away hadn’t been a possibility (something he had proved to himself at the time), and he would never have that option. Maybe that was good, since he wouldn’t be able to ruin his liver, or get so fucked up that it resulted in doing things he would regret more than usual. Steve had reckless tendencies while  _ sober _ , acting with his heart more than his head, and God forbid the drunk decisions he might have made. But he wanted something to soothe that ache. 

In a way, coming to the present time was a possibility for a new beginning. All of his old life was literally the past, and he had the perfect opportunity to move on with a clean slate. It was never that simple. After all, he was still Captain America. He was a man who was a fixture in a museum - a feat of genetic modification. He was everything patriotic, a man from the war who would always be a Super Soldier. People knew him from the installments in the museum, in such an ‘intimate’ depth that they could hope to know him as if he was a friend. The things the placards spoke were exaggerations: pleasantries that painted him in the best light.

And they talked about Bucky too. For a while, he could swallow back his grief. Steve often hunted down distraction in this time. Working out always helped, and taunting Sam proved an amusing pastime. This was enough for the first month or so. But then Steve was dragged out to that museum, to see what he thought on the permanent fixture. A part of him instinctively hated it - they were idolising him for everything he was made out to be. It wasn’t a true representation of him, but a polished and perfected caricature of the American Dream. 

As much as he disliked they way he was being so glorified, it wasn’t impossible to stomach. Seeing a subsection of his installment was what got to him. There he was, laughing and joking with Bucky, a man described on the screen as being his ‘best friend’. He tried to hold himself together, but he could feel his throat tightening. It was silent footage, but the warm joy of his boyfriend’s laugh echoed around his brain. There was no holding back the flood of tears that hit him. In an attempt to preserve a sense of dignity, he hurried out of the building, leaving a puzzled Sam in his wake. 

Steve only made it as far as the bench. His head was in his hands, and he couldn’t push back the wave of emotions that struck him. So much for leaving his past behind. Seeing his Bucky’s smiling face hit him hard, and the realisation he would never know that again could have killed him. He felt sick. His chest ached with the weight of this all, and he was more or less hyperventilating. He would never have him again.

All of those years together, every promise, every gentle touch and kiss and comfort, summed up to nothing. There was no going back. He was trapped in a time with no Bucky, and it was an overwhelming realisation. He knew that had he not been brought here, he would have been in the same Bucky-less hell. Steve didn’t notice when someone sat down beside him, but he welcomed the warm hold of an arm around his shoulders. Sam. Of course it was. For all the teasing the two did, they’d become fast friends. 

“We shouldn’t’ve dragged you out here. I get Fury wanted you to see it but… I’m sorry, man.”    
Wiping the wet from his cheeks, Steve tried to regain at least some composure.   
“I can’t imagine what it’s like, losing someone like that. You two seemed real close - don’t think I’ve ever had anyone that close a friend.”    
The blonde snorted slightly, shaking his head, “He wasn’t my friend.” 

There was a puzzled moment, and Steve forced a slight smile. A second or two passed, and Sam suddenly got it. His expression dropped. It was bad enough thinking he lost a good pal, but he had lost a  _ lover _ .    
“Oh… Oh, Steve,” He squeezed his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.” 


	4. It's been dying for years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter took a little while. Progress may be a little slow for the next week or so as I've got sinusitis :'( 
> 
> Hope people like this, there's a lot more to come

Years had passed. So many years, in fact, that neither man should have looked as young as they did. Then again, being frozen seemed to work wonders on the body. With all this time having passed, neither could have anticipated  _ any  _ kind of reunion. Steve certainly hadn’t, having almost completely resigned himself to his losses a few weeks after the museum incident. However, that wasn't a matter of importance at the moment. 

Combat called, and Captain America found himself against a rather formidable foe. Fast, strong, with a metal arm and an expert with a knife, and a gun. Each movement they made was beautifully co-ordinated, like the battle was more of a choreographed dance than a frantic fight. He’d donned a mask and goggles, but the scuffle had led to them being lost. The mask had just gone, and Steve was staring down the assailant in shock. 

It was Bucky.

He was significantly stronger, one of his arms replaced with a threatening prosthetic, and his hair had grown long and shaggy. But it was still him; it was still his Bucky. Beneath the hardened exterior and aggressive posture, he remained man he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. There was a stalemate, where recognition clearly sparked in the Winter Soldier's eyes, and Steve was rendered useless in the face of him.

"Bucky?" Steve’s voice was strained, hesitant, as though his throat was disobeying his mind’s apprehensions.    
"Who the hell is _ 'Bucky' _ ?"

Those words cut right through him. Steve's heart felt like it had been torn to shreds yet another time. His eyes saddened; his stomach sank. Bucky aimed the gun at him, and had it not been for Sam kicking him out of the line of fire, he surely would have died. Bucky's eyes followed him, filled with fright as his brain tried desperately to recall this voice - this face - that was so familiar to him.

He aimed again. He was obliged to; this was his mission. All that programming gnawed at him. However, Bucky attacked for more reason than his brainwashing forcing his hand: he lashed out from an overbearing fear. He didn't know how to handle this, his head buzzing with fragmented thoughts. Much like a trapped animal, his response was to lash out. Natasha's shot hit the car by him; he used this opportunity to flee. 

In the lab chair, Bucky was rattled. The experience had messed with his remaining resolve, and he tried to process it all. People paced the room, preparing for the mission report, always ready to step in should Bucky lunge for them. It had happened before, not that the Winter Soldier knew it. Watching them wander for a moment, he tried to rationalise the bridge. 

No matter what he did, he couldn’t quite place just who he saw. The man knew who he was; he looked at him in such a way that it made his chest ache. And Bucky knew him. There was no denying that. Something rose in him. A flit in his heart; a teariness to his eyes. He felt the barest shake of a memory in the overgrowth of his tangled mind. No visuals, but a feeling. Affection? 

There hadn’t been much time for experiencing that. The Winter Soldier was not human - not a flesh and blood man who could think and feel - but a weapon. The New Fist of HYDRA. Pierce sung his praises often, speaking of his potential and his success - how he would be a  _ ‘new beginning’ _ . It meant so little to him personally, but this was the only world that he knew. All that he was allowed to know was who he would be executing next, and who he was to obey. HYDRA had stripped him of any sense of individuality, and instead lauded him as some kind of trophy. 

When Pierce came through, Bucky had tuned out. The words he spoke didn’t reach him, not until the harsh strike of a hand came down on his face. It echoed about the room. He grit his teeth.   
“Mission report, now.”    
Pierce was losing his patience with him; they didn’t spend so long maintaining his programming for him to blatantly ignore commands. 

"The man on the bridge…"    
Memories trapped behind his training threatened to break through. His heart was racing; he could feel his mind at war with itself. The name  _ ‘Bucky’  _ bounced around his head. The man’s face haunted him. He still couldn’t place it.   
“Who was he?”    
Uncertainty wrapped around his tone so much that the scientists fussed about uncomfortably. No weapon was so moral. Cracks were showing in the coding.    
“You met him this week on another assignment.”

Bucky caught the impatience in his voice, but he couldn’t break the fixation he had on the encounter. As Pierce moved to sit in front of him, he glared over his brow. The answer was a lie, that was obvious. It was a ‘shut up and move on’ response.    
“I knew him.”    
The HYDRA leader sighed, and made an attempt at encouraging the Soldier by singing his praises once more. He then made a point that if he didn’t do his part, then HYDRA couldn’t free the world.   
“But I knew him.” A faint smile of familiarity hit his features.

The team had reached frustration point - the man in charge in particular. Brief exchanges discussed the fact he had been out of stasis for too long, and it was time for a reset. When they strapped him down to wipe his brain, he didn't resist. He wasn't with it enough to give much of a fight anyway. Bucky barely knew what was happening, unable to rip his focus from his thoughts. As the electricity shot through his skull, he screamed out in agony, muffled by the gag. 

He was returned to what he was. The Winter Soldier was reassigned to take down Captain America, despite some HYDRA members contesting that it was a risk. Last time he saw the Captain, it went badly. But they were assured that the ‘refreshing’ that was performed would leave no trace behind. Steve would be a stranger, and a stranger was easy to kill. It had been every other time.

Bucky would have an advantage too. This engagement left Steve off kilter, as it would be expected to. The thunk of the van on the roads jostled the trio enough that their wounds were further agitated, but the blonde wasn’t sure he could feel it. His mind was a million miles away. He hit the back of his head against the wall, heaving a sigh as the tinny rattle echoed in his brain as the scraping sound of metal on asphalt. 

The Falcon gave him a nudge, trying to keep him from getting  _ too  _ lost in his thoughts.   
“It was him,” He affirmed, “He looked right at me like he didn’t even know me.”    
Heartbreak strangled his voice, and he could feel his throat tightening as he swallowed back an urge to cry.    
“How’s that even possible? It was like seventy years ago.”

With the best attempt he could manage at a cohesive explanation, Steve filled them in on Zola’s experiments. His jaws were so tightly clenched he was lucky that his teeth didn’t shatter. Nothing made sense; everything was stomach churningly stressful. Guilt coiled around him like the  _ necks of a hydra _ , and he sunk his head forward with a strained inhale.    
“They must have found him and…”  _ And I didn’t come and save him.  _ _   
_ “None of that’s your fault, Steve,” Natasha hissed through the pain burning up her shoulder.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”


	5. With its "I'll never forget you, you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is largely a retelling of parts of CA:TWS

In some ways, Steve was almost disgusted with himself for his habit of feebly pushing back the memories from his past. _ It would be easier to cope in this world if he did:  _ he repeated this thought with the hopes that he would eventually believe it. But the shame would come quick on its tail, and in the end, Steve’s resulting guilt only proved to feed the ache he longed to subside. The idea of trying to forget all the things that made him was unforgivable. 

More so than that, he could never truly allow himself to shut out Bucky. 

When he felt this urge in the past - a past only as long ago as the time before the traffic bridge incident - he would scold himself for such thoughts. When he tried to pack away the man like he was just a child’s toys in the attic, he found himself drawn to his wallet. In this, he kept a photo of the two of them. He would draw a calloused thumb over the line of Bucky’s jaw, and stifle the ache in his lungs as he bit back the wave of nostalgic melancholy. 

This was where he found himself again, as he stood looking over the rusted safety bars. Instead of thumbing the faded photo in his wallet, he instead looked over what he had in his head. Faith was low in Bucky from everyone else. Sam, Natasha, Fury: they were all convinced that there was no saving him. Steve didn’t feel that way. He knew that his Buck was in there; he saw him break beneath his name. No matter what HYDRA did, or their intentions, they could never truly overwrite the real Bucky. 

Even if he wasn’t all there, even if he  _ couldn’t  _ recall his lover’s face at their next altercation, Steve owed it to him to try and help him somehow. Bucky had been there for him for as long as he could remember. When his parents passed, Bucky took him in. When he tried to join the war efforts, Bucky supported him. When they charged onto that train, Bucky didn’t hesitate to follow. And all that while he had assured him with a familiar phrase.

_ “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”  _

Those words had never left him. They followed the pair like a loyal dog, biting at their heels in moments of doubt. These days, it stung him to think about how literal it had been.  _ Had.  _ Steve had been blessed with a chance to rewrite their ending. He had all the pages. He had the ink, the glue, the binding. He just had to bring it all together. All that was left were the words, the story.

And the story would come to him, soon enough, even if it started out unpleasantly. Steve was well aware that they would end up in yet another fight. It wouldn’t be very HYDRA of them to not resend Bucky after him. A clean slate. The higher ups who deployed him would probably revel in the agony that seeing him again would cause. They would probably be awash with pleasure to hear that Captain America had succumbed beneath the hand of the man he cared so much about. 

His optimistic thoughts were unwavering; he knew this would turn out fine. Steve remained faithful that things could be better. There would be no going back to the way it was. That didn’t have to be a bad thing. In this day and age, they would be more free to do what they wanted. This all depended on Bucky both remembering him, and wishing to continue things as they were. If he remained the man he was before all of this happened, then there were no doubts in the Super Soldier’s mind that this would all work out fine.

When Sam came to join him, he expressed his doubts. He uttered words that made Steve’s mouth sour.    
“I don’t think he’s the kind you save; he’s the kind you stop.”    
“I don’t know if I can do that.”    
The reply was hardly a surprise to the Falcon, not particularly expecting him to just lie down and accept the idea. A part of him had some belief that Steve  _ could  _ redeem the man, and an even greater part of him hungered for that. But his rational mind had doubts that couldn’t just be swept under the rug. 

Regardless of his thoughts on the success of said mission, Sam would stand by his friend through thick and thin. If he could help to get the man back in some capacity, then he would do whatever he could. They readied themselves for battle, Steve donning his old uniform. The Falcon had to admit, that was a  _ genius  _ idea. Truthfully, it was his idea, hence his confidence in it. 

Things didn’t go as well as they could have. Bucky clearly didn’t recall him at all this time, and was even more focused on fulfilling his assignment. He appeared with no real warning, slamming Steve off the edge of the helicarrier, and tearing the Falcon’s wings from him like he was nothing more than an unfortunate butterfly. In the moment the Captain was dangling off the edge, he was hit with the unpleasant familiarity of this situation. Dragging himself back onto steady ground, his eyes fell on the hunter.

Standing like stags, the men watched each other across the helicarrier. The emotional weight wasn’t as suffocating this time; Steve had been prepared to become a stranger once again. Reluctance remained, and he tried (almost begged) to get Bucky to somehow change his mind. To back off. To do  _ something  _ that would mean Steve wouldn’t have to hurt him. The Winter Soldier did not back down. His resistance felt odd, opting to glower at him now they were face to face, instead of lunging as he did outside. Steve had no choice. 

Much like their former fight, each action was a step in a well rehearsed dance. To Steve’s shield being thrown, Bucky easily blocked it with a swipe of his arm in front of his body. The Captain seized it when it whipped through the air, and with a clean one-two-three movement, swept it forward to block the ensuing gunfire. As he did so, he closed the distance between them. Though his movements were precise, a bullet grazed his thigh from where the Soldier pulled a second gun. 

Recklessly, Bucky lunged for him when he caught the wince. The shield struck him hard enough to knock him to the floor. When Bucky hit the ground, the guns fell from his grip, one scattering far across the platform. He was down for a mere second, as a single thought plagued him:  _ mission _ . As he rose, he drew the knife from the holster on his belt, lacking concern for loss of long range advantage. His movements were deliberate, icy gaze locked on Steve. Exasperation hit the man; there was no getting through to Bucky yet. 

He strode towards him with the look of a starving wolf, ready to sink its teeth in and tear him to shreds. His nose screwed up, his lips pulled back in a snarl, he raised an arm to swipe with the blade. Steve used his shield to halt the attack. Close combat was unfavourable for both, though they were well seasoned in the sport. Punches couldn’t land. Bucky kicked the back of his leg out, so that he dropped to his knee. Going in with the metal elbow, he was knocked backwards from the impact on the shield. 

Steve had to let his guard down for just a moment. This was his best shot, as the Soldier was preoccupied finding his footing. His attention turned to the keypad as he sent the lift down, and the attacker took no hesitation in launching for him. A metallic screech ran the air as the knife scraped the vibranium that blocked it. Steve gripped Bucky’s real arm in a vicelike hold, slamming his shield down onto the metal one. Bucky grabbed it, forcing it back towards the wielder. The knife dug into the soft leather of the Captain’s glove. 

He couldn’t hold him back much longer. Falling back a moment, he placed a swift kick to Bucky’s chest, knocking him backwards. A loud grunt cut the air. He took his chance to race toward the chip set, taking the controller chip from it. Just as he was slipping it into his hip holster, Bucky was back. The centre star of the shield took his punch with a resounding clang, and he continued to shove his weight down onto it. Steve pushed back. 

Bucky stumbled. Punches were thrown a little desperately, and both leaned on a rail each until, with a great howl, Bucky launched into him, and toppled the pair over the edge of the banister. Steve dropped the chip when they clattered down. On the sloped surface they landed on, they ran for each other, the brunette landing a heavy punch to his belly, and catching him around the jaw with an elbow. Sliding down the decline, Steve grabbed the chip, pulling himself up to his feet with the edge. Bucky slid towards him. 

The scuffle resumed, and the chip was knocked over the edge. It was Bucky getting elbowed in the face this time, disorienting him enough that Steve easily kicked him off the side. He jumped after, needing to retrieve the chip. Landing on the window (and thanking God that he didn’t go  _ through  _ it), he made a beeline to grab the tech. Before he got there, his own shield was launched into his back. When he stopped rolling, he grabbed it, blocking the following shots in his direction.

There weren’t many options presented as the Soldier stalked towards him. He hoped that the shield being frisbeed would in some way incapacitate him, but he merely knocked it aside with his arm. Speeding up, Bucky pulled the knife again and swung blindly at him. It was easy to see his actions were starting to grow desperate. Steve attempted to block the slashes, but in shoving his arm back, Bucky retaliated by forcing down with the metal arm. The blade sunk into his shoulder. Steve cried out. 

But there was a flaw in this attack, as it forced Bucky to remain too close for too long. Their faces were inches apart. Steve had to swallow back the biting nostalgia; now wasn’t the time to think of previous  _ close  _ encounters like this. Bashing their heads together twice, he managed to force him off. Bucky seemed briefly dizzy. The blonde thunked back against the wall, and ripped the knife out of his shoulder.

Another mistake came with the Soldier immediately going for the chip. Steve set himself on him like a hound to a fox, restraining his wrist. Not allowing Bucky to fight back, when he rose, Steve closed a hand around his throat, forcing him up into the air. He hissed and wheezed, grabbing for his arm but unable to pry him off. Still holding Bucky’s human arm, he flipped him onto the ground, continuing to restrain him.

One arm hooked under Bucky’s, the other exerting weight down onto the hand at the side of his neck, he managed to keep him at such a distance that he couldn’t reach with the metal limb.    
“Drop it,” He snarled.   
Bucky gave a futile swing.   
“Drop it!” He bit, harsher. 

He didn’t relent. The man’s arm  _ crunched  _ under the force, and Bucky gave a blood curdling scream. Guilt (and some disgust) flooded the Captain, hating how much harm he was having to bring him. Despite having his arm forcibly broken, he showed no signs of letting go of the chip. Pulling him back, throwing himself on the ground below him, Steve caught Bucky’s neck in his arm. The headlock was tight, so much so that all the writhing on top of him didn’t do a thing to help. 

With the metal arm, he grabbed one of Steve’s hands, succeeding in pulling it away. It failed, however, when the arm got immediately restricted by the grip of a leg. Panic struck his eyes. Licking his lips, the Soldier was deafeningly aware of how hopeless his mission had become, having been physically prevented from any effective struggle. His vision faded out. His hand unclenched. Taking the chip, Steve bolted. 

Only one minute before the helicarrier would be shot down. Pulling himself up on the metal bar, he tried to quickly bolt for the chipset. A bang; a striking pain. Bucky was up already, and had shot him in the back of the thigh. When he reached it, he’d been shot again, and again. At the last second, he managed to replace the chip and cause the targets to be lost. It was far too close a call. 

Steve was placed in an uncomfortable position. With the wounds he had sustained, there was little chance of him being able to get off the helicarrier in time. He instructed that Maria fire, regardless of her apprehensions about his safety. Something else bit at him. If he  _ did  _ get off of this ‘sinking ship’, then he would be leaving Bucky to die, again. This way, it was likely they would go out together, even if it didn’t mean as much to the Soldier as it did to him. 

As it rained fire, and the whole carrier shook, a pained howl hit his ears. Beneath a fallen metal scaffold, Bucky looked up at him with terror in his eyes. He tried vainly to push himself free, but with the broken arm it was hopeless. Steve hobbled over. In spite of the fighting, and the wounds the man sustained from him, he couldn’t leave him there to die. Not his Bucky. 

With all the strength he could muster, Steve lifted the fallen framework, just enough that the man could drag himself free. It was just the two of them. The whole thing was falling apart. Steve bore bullet wounds that oozed red into his suit. Bucky held his broken arm into his chest. The two were more than worse for wear. If there would be any chance, any hope to spark recognition, this was all he had left to reach for it.

“You know me.”   
It sparked something in him, but not enough that he could understand it. The fear rose in Bucky, and culminated in aggression much like it had in the latter half of the bridge fight. He slammed his metal fist into the shield.   
“No I don’t!” His snarled response was hoarse. 

Steve didn’t lose resolve. Trying to reassure him, help him recall anything from his past, Steve carried on. His hand reached out slightly. He could see it. Uncertainty rushed Bucky’s expression, his eyes betraying how rapidly his nervousness grew.    
“You’ve known me your whole life.”    
Another hit. Steve didn’t fight back, and the force he was struck with caused the assailant to fall over. 

“Your name is James. Buchanan. Barnes.”    
The words were being cut off by his heavy panting, as the ache of the battle was crashing down on him. Emotions boiled beneath the surface of his skin, making his throat feel tight. Bucky howled at him to shut up. His mind was racing, unable to place any of this on a level that felt okay. His whole identity was being questioned. Frightful gaze on Steve, seeing him now without his helmet, he felt his chest heave with  _ something _ . 

“I’m not gonna fight you.” 

Steve’s mission was over. He had nothing to lose from refusing to fight back; nothing except his lover. Truth be told, he couldn’t fight him anyway - not now that it wasn’t mandatory. Staring straight at the bewildered brunette, Steve dropped his shield out of the broken window, where it was lost to the ocean. His belief in Bucky was unwavering.    
“You’re my friend.”    
He stayed put, well aware by the posture that he was certainly going to be lunged at again. 

Bucky tackled him to the ground, growling to him, “You’re my mission.”    
Had a fist not met his face with such force, perhaps Steve would have said:  _ ‘and you’re mine.’  _   
He struck him several times, with the mentality dictating that breaking things would make the bad feelings go away. He went to hit again, winding up to do so, but he hesitated.   
“Then finish it.”    
The fist was held aloft.   
“‘Cause I’m with ya ‘til the end of the line.” 

Tears caught the edges of Bucky’s eyes. His breath caught in his chest. There it was: recognition. Those words; he knew them well. He’d said them before, hadn’t he? He’d said them  _ to  _ Steve. The thought pattern was there but it wasn’t completely connected. His hand lowered. Steve nodded at him, smiling barely. But before either could say a word, a hunk of metal came clamouring down from above, smashing through the bottom of the helicarrier, causing Steve and a great deal of shattered glass to plummet into the water below. With mournful eyes, he could do nothing but watch the fall. 

In Steve’s mind, there was some humour to this situation. How the tables had turned - Bucky was the one watching  _ him _ falling now. And it was just as he realised who he was. Of course, he was also falling - from an aircraft - into the water. Some might remark that Steve had an affinity for this. The impact knocked him out, and he sunk below the surface with all the rubble.

Apparently, this was not the end. Wake returned slowly to Steve. The collar of his suit dug into his neck as he was dragged ashore by a shoulder strap. His body was being jostled as he was hoisted unceremoniously into the mud. Bucky had pulled him landwards. He knew now. Not all of it had fully resurfaced, and some thoughts felt they were locked at a certain point, but he  _ knew _ . Staring sadly at Steve, he weighed up his options. 

He couldn’t stay. He didn’t want to go. Every bone in his body wanted to lie there in the muck by his side, and wait until he came back around. The man in patriotic uniform was the man he had loved all those years ago. And the words he spoke lit up all those neural pathways that had been shocked silent in all his conditioning. Memories crawled beneath the barbed wire of his training, and it was all very overwhelming. 

The dancehall. The argument. Steve’s hand wrapping tightly around his wrist. The scratch of the brick wall on his neck when Steve shoved him against it. The tenderness of their first kiss. The fireworks. Bucky’s heart was racing, and he tried to bite back the wave of tears that was rushing him like the water that lapped at the shore. Crouching by Steve’s side, he tipped his head to let any water drain from his mouth. Before he stood again, Bucky pressed a soft kiss to his dampened forehead. 

“I love you. I’m sorry.” 

The sound of the words hit Steve’s ears enough to make him smile slightly in his drowned daze. 

In the hospital bed, listening to the music and the tap of Sam sending a text, he found himself reminiscing on the night of the dance. That night, things changed unspeakably. All those years of love and yearning culminated finally into the relationship they both wanted, but couldn't approach. He hadn't known a feeling like that since. Now, something came close - Bucky finally knew him again.

He kept his eyes on the news each day, but heard no more on The Winter Soldier.


	6. I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Bucharest, Bucky is pining

Bucky wished he could have stayed with Steve. Instead, he was now stuck hiding out in a safehouse in Bucharest - avoiding both the law, and a potential pursuit from HYDRA. A weapon of his caliber certainly needed to be contained. If he were to ever have a chance of returning to a normal life, he would first need to live in obscurity. He supposed there was some relief in knowing he was well away from prying eyes, as opposed to being re-wiped and deployed again. 

But it was lonely here. 

The room had a sickeningly oppressive feel. Suffocation came from more than just the limited space, but from the general atmosphere. Scraps of wallpaper peeled from the walls like sunburnt skin, bare in patches, exposing crumbling plaster. The tiled splashback by the sink was chipped in places, and the damp had made itself at home in the grout. Where the walls were painted, it was in an odd sap green colour on one, and an unsettling red on the other. Neither seemed particularly matching to the remaining floral print.

Bucky hoped that the lack of comfort or homeliness this place provided would act as a catalyst. He would like to leave this place as soon as possible. To leave, he would have to either redeem himself, or find a way to live stealthily elsewhere. Generally, Bucky was never the type to hunger for luxuries, but hot water would be greatly appreciated, as well as a home that didn’t reek of black mould and musty fabric. 

Holes had began growing in the plaster since he was last here. It chipped in great clumps, meaning one of his first moving back in tasks had been sweeping everything up. In the cracks, he spotted the mottled black of yet more damp, and, on running a finger down the surface, he found that it was wet. Glancing at his metal arm, he hoped that vibranium didn’t rust. At least the makeshift shelves remained in tact - cinder blocks appeared to have a wealth of uses.

He shook out the sleeping bag, lying it cleanly on the mattress. There were no bed linens, and as much as Bucky disliked looking at the stained fabric of the mattress, he didn’t see much point buying a fitted sheet. For all he knew, he would have to leave here tomorrow. The sleeping bag made things much easier, even if it wasn’t the warmest thing. It kept him off the suspicious marks anyway.

As he pondered his options, he set his pillow at the top of the bedroll, and glanced around the apartment. Staying inside as much as possible would be the best idea for a month or two. With the money he’d gradually offloaded into an aliased account as a ‘just incase’ over the years, Bucky figured he could get by for a good while if he watched his spending closely. Getting an actual job would be too risky; he was fairly recognisable. 

When he arrived, Bucky grabbed the basic necessities. Packing them away hadn’t been as straightforward as he would have hoped, as he had to rehome a few of the mice that had settled in, and sterilise all of the cupboards. With his groceries, he grabbed a couple of humane traps, and set about putting them down. Catching leptospirosis and having to go into hospital would hardly be the stealthiest start. 

Flicking the kettle on, he wondered what happened with Steve when he came back around. Surely he would be with the rest of the Avengers by now. Bucky wished he could have said more to him, while he still had the chance. In the 40s, and by the water’s edge. Right now, he was holding onto the hope that he would make it as a free man for long enough to reconnect with Captain America, and to know him again as Steve Rogers. He would take even just a moment with the man, as long as it was the two of them as people - not as ‘soldiers’.

The bitter frost of the evening was threatening to work beneath his thick layers of clothing. Bucky glanced towards the window, where the taped up newspaper sheets obscured his view. Snowflakes moved as shadows behind the thin screen. The kettle clicked off, catching his attention, and the encroaching freeze only served to make him need his cup of coffee even more. He took to his armchair, where he kicked his feet up and perused a paper. 

Bucky was beginning to catch up with the times (though, a lot of the technology still went over his head). He had gotten himself a brown leather bound journal, in which he would note anything that came back to him, or seemed to be of particular importance. Sipping his coffee, he found his eyes falling on an article relating to the Avengers, and humour sparked in him. 

Of course, he picked up a tabloid of all papers. And, of course, he came across an article rating them by who was the most attractive. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but take a look through them. This Thor certainly was  _ something _ , but he felt his Steve should have been number one. Then again, Bucky may have been biased. He looked upon the small headshot adoringly, feeling a furnace roar in his chest. Carefully, he tore the face from the page, and went to grab his journal. 

Gluing the picture down, he smiled back at the face, relieved to finally have a piece of him to look at. While Bucky could recall the visage very well these days, and a few  _ other _ things, he remained somewhat afraid that he would be made to forget. Now, he had a frame of reference. This book was his guide to himself, and he was currently assembling it with care. A few days later, he managed to add to his collection a larger printout of Captain America. It took up a whole page, but he liked it. 

For a while, these fragments of Steve sustained his aching heart reasonably well. The pillow he hugged to his chest each night had been spritzed with a cologne that closely matched the one from their rare nights together back in the 40s. Though he highly doubted Steve would ever be at his apartment, in the rare chance he could show his face, he had a jar of ‘intense’ coffee in the back of his cupboard. He kept a couple nightshirts in Steve’s size to wear to bed when his pining grew overbearing.

It was difficult living this way. He wanted more than anything to just fly to New York, and speak to his man - face to face. Bucky wanted to tell him all the things he could remember, from the night that sparked it all, to the time that they got caught out in the rain during a drill and had to hunker under a pallet for shelter. Moving into his bedroll, Bucky tugged the pillow into his chest. He buried his nose into the cotton cover, imbued with notes of clove, and sighed softly. 

When it came down to it, a now slightly deflated pillow was nothing in comparison to the warmth of a body beside him. It was nowhere near as solid either, and far too quiet. As much as Bucky had complained back in the day, Steve’s snoring would be a heavenly sound to him now. He squeezed the pillow tightly. Bucky recalled his amusement upon lying beside post-serum Steve for the first time. He was frankly  _ massive _ , and his arms were heavy. It was hard to believe that once he was that frail little lad who Bucky could almost curl himself around on the few instances they shared a bed.

He wished to tell him about that, too. In a cheap refill pad, he began drafting letters. He couldn’t leave his little apartment in Bucharest, but maybe a letter wouldn’t be too revealing. With no return to sender, and meticulous handwriting, it should be hard to be linked back to him. Maybe, if he used enough caution, Steve could even come here one day. 

But the things he wrote only served to distress him. It was too little. It was never enough. His hands were too shaky. His handwriting was practically unreadable. Either the letters came out plain - reading as so scripted that there was no emotion to them, or they came out  _ too  _ intense. Which, Bucky had to admit, was probably more of a problem in his eyes than it would have been to the blonde. Every time he got to the meat of their relationship, and tried to convey what he felt, he would start to cry.

His tears would get on the paper, smudge up the ink, and that was another one ruined. Eventually, he just gave up on the idea, and attempted to get by living a reasonably normal life, quietly hoping that he would soon see Steve again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I may be stupid, but I am consistent.  
> Steve's cologne, regardless of ship, is the same


	7. Who is it climbs to your picture?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is another chapter that is largely a re-telling of part of the MCU, this being in CW. However, it felt important to me for context and flow that I included it

When Steve was finally blessed with knowing the location of his wayward partner, it wasn't in a good context. He should have known, given his fixation on the news as a source, that if knowledge of Bucky's return came from here, it would not be inherently positive. And so, the hunt for him began. Everyone knew Steve couldn't just stand by and allow Bucky to be seized. Bucharest, his information told him. He went straight there.

With the fact that Bucky recognised him in their last encounter, Steve’s hopes were high when it came to meeting with him again. There were some risks in his choice of waiting in the apartment, but confronting him in public - in full Captain America gear none the less - would be a terrible idea. Not at all conspicuous. While he waited, he was drawn to a leather bound notebook. He flicked through a couple of pages, coming across a picture of himself. A slight smile caught his lips.

But a sound disturbed him. Bucky was watching him with a close eye, keeping a distance. Turning to face the Winter Soldier, Steve maintained a fairly necessary calmness.    
“Do you know me?” His tone was level.   
Bucky hesitated a moment, before managing, “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”   
“I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be - but you’re lying.”

They both knew that, and it was clear. Several things gave this away to Steve. Not only did the man’s anxious body language speak volumes, but his tone warbled as he gave the answer. The words were given stiffly, as though scripted. Bucky had prepared this response in the event that he saw Steve again. Despite all his planning to tell him how his feelings had lasted, how he knew him as he did when they were sneaking kisses in empty offices, he was too afraid for honesty.

Something else stuck out to the blonde - he called him Steve. The museum focused on him as Captain America - he was even wearing the gear right now. If he didn’t know him, it felt like he should have referred to him as his hero role. His forename wouldn’t have been what sprung to mind. Hell, even his friends didn’t always call him Steve. They stuck to ‘Cap’ quite often, or ‘Rogers’, and he had adapted to this. But Bucky called him Steve. It felt like a giveaway. 

Bucky was feeling an intense cocktail of emotions: largely fear, guilt for these accusations against him, and a sense of warmth to see Steve again. He couldn’t just outright admit to knowing him. There was far too much at stake for Captain America already with him just being here, let alone associating with him. It ached at Bucky a great deal, and he swallowed hard. His eyes were stinging. 

Something in him was desperate to leap into his arms, to feel the warmth of his grip that he knew from all that time ago in the war. He wanted that closeness; he couldn’t have it. He had to maintain a sense of distance. Memories dogged at him. In the moments of eye contact he made, Bucky could see that familiar fondness, and was overwhelmed by a sense of shame and guilt. He couldn’t put Steve through this. 

He shifted the topic slightly.  
“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore.”  
The blonde seemed to believe him, biting back the response of  _ ‘I know you don’t’ _ , as it wouldn’t be very helpful right now.   
“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”   
“That’s smart. Good strategy.” 

Sam’s voice kept coming from the radio, and Steve found himself barely listening to the warnings. His priority was getting his Bucky out of here safely. A defeatedness hung about the brunette, he knew what was to come.    
“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”   
No one had called him that in a while; he looked away, readying himself reluctantly.    
“It always ends in a fight.” 

The police were outside of the door. They could hear them stomping closer. Sam was urging them to get a move on with a countdown.  
Curiosity bit too much; Steve had to get some answers.  
“You pulled me from the river, why?”   
He spoke firmly, authoritatively, trying to limit any avoidance of an answer.   
“I don’t know,” Bucky strained.   
“Yes, you do. You told me you loved me.”   
“...I know.” 

All hell broke loose. A grenade through the window, which Bucky seamlessly kicked to Steve. He stifled the blow with the shield. This coordination felt familiar, falling into a sense of cooperation that came naturally to them. Fighting off the cops, it became quite a desperate scrap, as more and more seemed to flood the room. Steve was eyeing his man with a great deal of worry, frightful for both him and the people he was hurting. While the fight was unavoidable, fatalities were not. 

“Buck! Stop! You’re gonna kill someone!”    
Bucky shoved Steve to the ground, slamming his fist through the floorboards, “I’m not gonna kill anyone.” 

Heaving his backpack from beneath the floor, he threw it out the window. Shots were getting fired into the room now, and Bucky made an attempt to block them using his vibranium arm. The Captain shoved up to his feet, using his shield to block the bullets. This moment of closeness, with Steve standing guard over him, made his heart race. No doubt this would be the only intimacy they would share for a while. 

In what felt like a polar opposite of the softness Bucky felt, he shoved Steve into some of the assailants, and out of the window. While he dealt with those, the Soldier walloped a man with a cinder block. Escape felt impossible, with floods of police waiting for him, and his love caught in the crossfire. He felt he couldn’t leave him. However, there wasn’t much of a chance to deliberate, and he had to hope that he would do what he always did - pull through somehow. 

And so began a frantic fight on the stairs, with him attempting to shove everyone out of the way as best as possible. A man was on a transceiver, reporting that Bucky was on the move. He heard a crunching sound, and glanced over his shoulder. Steve had caught up. This could be good or bad, depending on Steve’s intent here. He hoped he would be helpful; he seemed to be so far. The choreography of the fight was incredible, as the two naturally played into each other’s actions.

Until Bucky threw a man down the stairwell, Steve only just catching him. He looked exasperated, giving his companion a weary glare.   
“Come on, man.”   
Admittedly, the way he tossed the man back up onto the stairs wasn’t all that friendly. Had this been a less dire situation, there was no doubt that Bucky would’ve been amused by his response. There wasn’t much time for that. Someone aimed to shoot at Bucky; Steve knocked the gun from his hands with the shield. 

Perhaps naively, the Winter Soldier thought he would be reasonably safe when he was on the rooftop. They were too preoccupied with the building to give him immediate chase. Remorse stung him as he realised he would be abandoning Steve to the chaos of this. He would get into so much trouble, and all for him. It made his stomach churn. Cognizant of his feelings for the man, guilt engulfed Bucky. 

There wasn’t time for getting caught up in his feelings, as he carried on across the roof. He went as fast as he could, until he felt a great weight slammed into his back. Knocked to the floor, he scrambled, trying to process the turn of events. Sharp, metal claws swung for him; his attempts to defend himself weren’t the most successful. He could seldom land a counter attack. The cat suited man was agile, fast with his swipes. Bucky could only play defensive, blocking as many blows as he could. 

Finally, when the Black Panther lunged, he seized his wrists, temporarily halting his onslaught of scratches. He could hear gunfire from a helicopter above, but it didn’t appear to be doing  _ anything  _ to the suited man. Taking the limited opportunity, as the chopper was disengaged and the assailant distracted, he fought free from the man and made a run for it, hoisting the bag onto his back.

Steve pursued them as this became a ground chase, terrified for what could happen to his Buck in all of this. Everything was escalating rapidly, and before he knew it, Steve had taken a car to more effectively keep up with them. It was a mess of dodging other traffic, having a man literally holding onto the back of the car, and Bucky throwing a bomb at the ceiling of the tunnel, causing it to collapse. Steve only just got out in time. He tore the Black Panther from the brunette, standing vigilantly by his side. For an instant, Bucky brushed his hand over the back of Steve’s, earning a brief squeeze of the palm. 

Cop cars and armed police swarmed them. Rhodey instructed they stand down. Bucky was shoved to his knees on the ground. Steve returned the shield to his back. The blonde remained surly in the van to the complex, his sternness breaking only when he saw his man in the glass containment cell. He looked miserable. Steve visibly saddened when he noticed him avoiding eye contact. He hated it in there. When he was being led out, he managed to catch his gaze, and they shared the barest of smiles. 


	8. Sentenced to death by the blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the prior chapter, it's set in CW. This is a more emotionally turbulent chapter, but there is some real sweetness to it.  
> This is not the most Tony friendly chapter. No hate to him as a character, that's just how it went.
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated.

Sooner than he had expected, Steve found himself cursing their condition once more. Just when he felt there was a chance -  _ a sliver of hope _ \- that he could genuinely have time to reconnect with Bucky, he was reactivated. The fighting began again. In all of the chaos, he did find a brief sense of amusement. In preventing Bucky from escaping via helicopter, his grip on the skids failed and the helicopter plummeted, meaning that  _ yet again _ Steve had fallen from an aircraft and into the waters below. This had to have been a contender for the world's strangest habit.

With Bucky (fortunately) unconscious, he pulled him from the wreckage of the aircraft, swimming to shore with his limp body clutched tightly against his chest. At this point, their relationship was feeling like a series of near-intimacies, their affections hindered by some kind of physical impediment - close, but not requited. The blonde dragged him into some shelter, where he reconvened with Sam. This would be a tense wait, with the roaring of other helicopters scouring for them.

Coming back around, heavy headed, Bucky tried to take in where he was. His metal arm was clamped in a vice. The place was industrially styled - likely a warehouse. Footsteps were coming his way. Steve stepped into view, along with Sam. Bucky’s gaze was focused entirely on the former.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” A smile caught his lips, the ensuing words laced with humour, “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”   
Steve’s whole face lit up.  _ He remembered. _ The corners of his eyes started to well up with tears.   
He managed, “You can’t read that in a museum,” while struggling to hold the shake from his voice. 

Ever the skeptic (and smart enough to not risk getting tricked into being pummelled with a metal fist), Sam went to interject.   
Bucky followed, still entirely at Steve, “You once went to kiss me in Peggy’s office. Y’ heard the door handle and got so panicked that you tripped over the seat, falling, grabbing the chair, and pulling it  _ on yourself  _ by mistake because - what a surprise - chairs aren’t attached to fuck all.”   
His cheeks went red; he hid his face.    
Looking toward Sam, he finished, “Peg and me - we were in hysterics.” 

There was no time for a real catch up. The joy in the room was killed when Bucky pressed to know what he’d done this time.  _ ‘Enough’  _ shook him to his core, his head bowing with shame. He  _ knew _ that would be the case _.  _ There was no escape from what he was built to be; ten words was all it took. Desperately, he tried to place the identity of his exploiter - eyes darting in a desperate attempt for recollection. He didn't know his name, but he knew his motivations.   


“I’m not the only Winter Soldier.” 

A plan of action would be needed. With the proposed risk, they would need to find some way to prevent Zemo from unleashing the rest of the Winter Soldiers in stasis. No one would be aptly prepared for that, not even Zemo himself. But with everything surrounding the Accords, and the fact the three men sat in this room were currently criminals, their options were limited. Sam contacted both Clint and Scott, readying them for what would subsequently be going down. Steve made a call to Sharon in order to get their gear back. 

Everything was uncomfortably tense. Bucky felt like he was being smothered with shame, walking with his gaze trained on his shoes. They were going to procure a getaway car. Noticing the dismay, Steve brushed his fingers over the back of Bucky’s hand; he locked their fingers together instinctively.   
“You’ll be alright, Buck. I won’t let anything happen.”    
For a moment, he smiled, thumping his head on Steve’s shoulder. He gave a grateful look towards Sam, “And thanks… You didn’t have to get involved.”   
“Oh, but I did. It’s my job to clean up your man’s messes.” 

The atmosphere lightened.   
It lightened tenfold when they saw the car they would be taking. Bucky barked a laugh, staring up at the blonde incredulously, as if this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. Sam’s head was in his hands, and he was trying to contain his complete reaction to the vehicle.   
“It’s fucking  _ tiny,  _ Steve! What on Earth…”    
Bucky, laughing, took back his hand, “A Beetle, Steve? Really? A damn  _ Beetle _ was what you pick? A vintage looking,  _ tiny _ car? Are all of us even gonna fit?”    
“It’s fine!” He assured, batting a hand dismissively, "You're fussing for no reason."

Initial sparks of a rivalry were kicking off when Sam took the passenger side, smiling sweet as anything at the scowly faced brunette.   
“Sorry, loverboy, you’re in back.”    
For a moment, he just looked between the two of them, “No?”    
“Bucky, please. He won’t move. I know he won’t. He'd sooner let us all get arrested than swap seats."   
Getting in the back, Bucky grumbled, “You stop me getting  _ killed _ , but you don’t let me sit in the front…”    
Sam flipped him off, his grin clear in the rearview mirror. 

“Man, you’re a chunky bastard,” The Falcon noted, looking over his shoulder, “Good thing it’s just you in the back, those shoulders take up half the car!”    
“I’m  _ strong _ , Sam. These are muscles.”    
Steve’s leaned his head on his fist, “Boys… Settle down. Don’t fall for his goading, doll. He’ll take it as encouragement. This is serious - lives are at risk.”   
“And you chose a damaged Beetle,” Seeing his Captain about to dissent the description, Bucky followed, “One of your rear lights is out.”    
“Goddamn it.” 

The drive itself wasn’t terrible. It was largely spent on discussing strategy, who would join them, and what the end goal was. A lot of names were being thrown around that Bucky couldn’t recognise, but he did his best to retain the information. They would be commandeering an aircraft; this was paramount. It would be their only way to get to Siberia as fast as they needed to. Ideally, they would evade notice at the airport, but they brought in extra ammunition for reserve - Tony would have somehow caught wind anyhow. 

As Bucky said before - it always ends in a fight. 

When their beeline for a chopper was interrupted by Iron Man’s growing consort, no one was surprised. Occasionally a man of reason, Steve attempted to assert the truth of the situation (how it had not been Bucky in Vienna) but Tony only thought him to be biased. No, there was video evidence of the Winter Soldier being the culprit of the attacks: Tony remained convinced of his case. Steve would not recoil, digging his heels even after Natasha tried to talk him down. 

The fight was in full swing from the moment it began, with everyone scattered across the airport. In the terminal, Sam and Bucky were attempting to make their way to a now located quinjet. It was time for some on-the-go adapting for the Winter Soldier. He hadn’t been prepared for Steve to have become beefy through a serum way back then, and he certainly wasn’t ready to see spider-y man slinging webs at him now. Plus, this flying man he was stuck with - though he seemed nice - was doing his head in. 

But, frustrating as Sam had been in their limited introduction, he saved his ass. He put himself on the line, repeatedly, for the sake of his best friend, and his friend’s lover. Gratitude shone through his exasperated expression, and Bucky promised himself to compensate him in some way for this. Should they get out of this unscathed, he would press Steve for gift ideas. For now though, they boarded the quinjet - thanks to Natasha. Another person he would have to make it up to. 

Inside the jet, a quiet and reserved Bucky was seated behind the blonde. This was the first uninterrupted moment they could have to themselves - a break from all of the chaos - and the guilt from his involvement was crashing down on him so hard that he couldn’t speak. He was accountable for this. Though there was more to it, and he didn’t know all too well the Accords or the context behind them, a lot of this chaos had been down to him. Steve had become a fugitive  _ because of him _ . 

For a while, they stewed in silence. Realisation that this all could have permanently ruined the Captain’s friendships ached him, to a point that his stomach was doing flips.    
Eventually, he managed, “What’s gonna happen to your friends?”   
Steve, truthfully, didn’t know. He hesitated on a sucked in breath, glancing briefly over his shoulder, concerned for how to answer it in a way that would hurt the least. As much as remorse was suffocating Bucky, Steve was being strangled by his own.   
“Whatever it is - I’ll deal with it.” 

He would. Steve would walk through hell in nothing but the clothes he was born in if it meant that his Bucky would be safe. Plus, his friends were not the issue at hand; he tried to treat the problem as if it didn’t exist. His eyes flit back to the windscreen of the jet, where the mountains rolled beneath the clouds.   
“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve…”    
“You… What you did, all those years, it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice. I  _ know _ you; I  _ know  _ you aren’t what they made you.”    
“I know… But… I did it. Even if, y’know,  _ I _ didn’t do it… It was my face, my body. That’s what they know. The vessel.” 

Steve put the jet into autopilot. He wandered over to the brunette, anchoring himself with one hand on the back of his chair, trying to resist the turbulence making his legs wobble. The other hand tugged Bucky’s jaw up, sliding the line of it to cradle his face gently. Bucky leaned into the touch.    
“You are worth every bit you were to me in the war. Fuck, maybe even  _ more. _ ”    
It was serious when he brought out the curse words.   
“Bucky, you would be worth the gallows.”

Their eyes locked. Bucky scanned his face anxiously - looking to Steve for a direction on what he should feel, despite him being partially at fault for the nervousness. Steve moved to crouch by his seat, hands cupping the sides of his face.    
“Maybe now isn’t the time, but…” Steve sighed, massaging a thumb through the brush of his beard, “Bucky… Do you…”   
A hand rose to rest on the back of one of his, “Do I still feel the same?”   
Steve nodded, cheeks rising with a blush.   
“Yes. I do.” 

It was easy to know what his thoughts were; this was how Steve always went about these things. So, Bucky leaned in to meet the kiss (much to the blonde’s embarrassment). He slowly slid his hands from Steve’s to grip his hair. Every time they went to kiss after that first night, Steve cupped his face. Without fail. He would always go in by gently setting his hands on Bucky’s cheeks, often brushing a thumb over his blushing skin or tucking some hair behind his ear, before softly connecting their lips. 

It relieved him to know that, in that way at least, nothing had changed. In all of this, Steve was the same man he always was. Dependable, lovable, loyal, _ his _ . Both were reluctant to pull away; any time one drew back, the other stole ‘just one more’ kiss. The only thing that redirected them was the slight increase in turbulence, and Steve rose from the floor.   
“I better go back to piloting,” He sighed, kissing Bucky on the head, “I love you. No matter what happens here, I love you.”   
“I love you too.” 

Though the rest of the journey was spent in a pensive silence, the heaviness around them had lifted. There was hope. For the first time in years, Bucky felt human. Siberia was on the horizon; its coniferous forests by the settlements were draped with snow. Trees thinned out as the quinjet roared above the tundra, sloping down into the freeze. A stone’s throw from the HYDRA Facility, the relics made their way out. Bucky’s nerves rose with the bile in his throat, and he reached for Steve’s hand. 

And he was right to worry. Not about Zemo, or the other Winter Soldiers, or even a risk of death, but about uncovered truths. About the chasm that would be left in Steve’s former friendship with Tony. About the depth of the damage he had done. Bucky could remember all of his wrongdoings by now, having been alive as himself for long enough to recollect his scattered thoughts. But he wasn’t prepared to deal with some of the consequences; he wasn’t aware of who else knew of his crimes. He wasn’t ready for someone to find one out right in front of him.

Bucky understood the reaction Tony had. He could understand the grief. The reaction was not disproportionate. And he understood Steve’s need to protect him, as damaging as it proved - especially now. Though knowing his responsibility, and almost convinced that Tony was probably right to take him out of the picture, he knew he still had to fight. How he wished for a moment, as they played piggy in the middle with the shield, that they had just become dancers instead. They could be just as choreographed, and living a far more peaceful life. 

When Tony got Steve down, the Winter Soldier  _ lunged _ . No one hurt his Captain. He moved with a roar, swinging violently, digging his metal fingers deep into the armour with the goal of tearing out the arc reactor. The vibranium arm was blown clean off, and in a mix of shock and pain, Bucky fell to one knee. In his distraction, a pulse sent him flying. Back to his feet, Steve took over. 

Captain America ran towards Iron Man recklessly, with no iota of hesitation, blocking each shot with his shield. The beam couldn’t push him back. Something came over Steve - animalistic, feral - and he beat the shield into Tony  _ mercilessly.  _ There was no keeping the blonde down, even when the suit helped to counter. He was doubled over by a shot to the belly, and hissed, panting on his knees.    
“He’s not just my friend.”    
“Take the just out - you got me.” Tony swung hard, catching his jaw in two sweeps. 

Steve was doubled over, coughing hard, feeling bile and blood rise to his throat. His face ached. Tony ragdolled him over to the concrete pillars, threatening him to stay down. Ever the stubborn bastard, he forced himself to his feet, hands poised like a boxer. He would be unable to fight back, regardless of his rebellious spirit. Tony raised a hand, ready to slam him down with a pulse when something grabbed for his ankle. A boot to the face had Bucky reeling.

But the attempt to somehow defend him worked out well, giving Steve ample opportunity to strike. He set himself on Tony savagely. Fists fell with the weight of a mountain, but it wasn’t enough. He grabbed the shield. When he’d rammed it into the mask of Tony’s suit enough that the latches gave way, Steve ripped it from him, tossing it aside. Wide eyes, flooded with fear, met the rage laden, roaring blues. Steve’s face, scrunched up like a snarling dog, showed only malice. With no lessening of the force, he swung the shield down, about to bludgeon his skull. Tony raised his arms, and Steve sunk the metal through the arc reactor. 

There, as he exuded force down, he realised what he was doing. Breathless, Steve drew back, falling aside. Exhaustion and agony weighed him down. When he leveled himself on his feet, he wrenched the shield from its lodgings, and staggered over to Bucky. He hoisted him up, supporting him in spite of the pain that flooded through him. With Tony managing a last few lines of disdain, asserting that he’s not deserving of the shield, it isn’t a question in his mind. Steve drops it, and takes his Bucky, leaving a battered Tony to the encroaching freeze. 


	9. I want you, I want you, I want you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why the rating was subject to change. We got some smut, boys
> 
> Feedback would be much appreciated!  
> Apologies if the next chapter comes in a little slowly

While this had been an easy choice on paper, and their only real option, it didn’t make the decision any more stomachable. If Bucky was to get better - to be returned to himself in full - then he would need to be ‘fixed’. T’Challa had apologized at great lengths for the combat that led up to this, bitten with guilt for hunting him over something that he did not do. Bucky had shrugged, agreeing to just sweep it under the rug. It was easier to just forget it. But there were some benefits to the guilt, as it meant that he was more willing to lend a technological hand. 

It would be possible, using Wakandan technologies, to deprogram Bucky. Brain scans would be needed, along with dedicated coding and manufacturing of specific machinery, but T’Challa assured that he would be in the best hands here. Some options were given as to what would be the best thing to do while waiting for developments, and (reluctantly) they settled on cryofreeze. Steve’s time here was limited to a few days at best before he would have to go on the run - he wanted to make the most of this time with Bucky. 

They were given a room for those few nights. There, Steve pulled Bucky into his lap as they sat at the top of the bed. He bowed his head to the crook of his neck, nuzzling his nose against the heated skin. Arms wrapped tightly around his middle, he rocked his dear Soldier slowly in his grip. Bucky’s arm lifted to loop over his boyfriend’s shoulders, fingers running up into his hair. Wordlessly, they stayed just so, the only sounds being their breath, and the shifting fabric of the blankets. Steve feathered kisses over his neck. 

Lying him back on the bed, the blonde ran his fingers down the white cotton of his lover’s shirt.    
“Where will you go?” Bucky rasped weakly.   
“I don’t know… not yet. I’ll figure it out.”   
“Will you come back?” His head lifted, eyes misty.   
Steve gave a weak smile, his hand sliding up the Soldier’s back, and into his hair. He fanned the locks out over the pillow, kissing his forehead.

“Of course. Of course, Buck,” Thoughts catching up with the meek voicing of the question, he hurried to reassure him, “I promise you. As soon as I can. If I can get Shuri or T’Challa, or anyone here really, to just… to tell me, doll, when you’re back. When you’re stable. I’ll be right here.”    
Those broad, calloused hands moved to grab each of the brunette’s cheeks, and Bucky’s gaze shot up to his face, “You promise?”   
“I promise.”   
His one hand lifted to back Steve’s right as he moved with him, connecting their lips tenderly. 

The soft chain of kisses only ceased due to the pair of them sniffling, and their tears tangled up with laughter. Emotions were all over the place, and though the weight of impending distance hung just above them, they lavished in this brief instance of intimacy. For once, in all of this, it was just them. There was no direct jeopardy. There was no immediate mission, end goal, or reason to part tonight. Until the morning, commitments were held behind a dam. Who knew when they would next indulge in such pleasures again? When would the stars align once more, so that Steve and Bucky could fall into each other and feel at home? 

This could be it for a long, long while. This may be all they would ever have. And so, through their snuffly noses, and watery eyes, they continued to share the sweetest of kisses. Caresses were lain over each other’s skin, slow and deliberate and learning. Tonight, they would trace each other’s forms until the feeling of the body beneath their palms would be burned into their memories. They would languish in the small comfort they could sustain, and Bucky parted his lips slightly as Steve’s teeth softly nipped at them. 

Soon enough, the smaller of the two was on his back, with his lover’s large frame over top. He hooked his one arm around Steve’s neck, pulling him close as he awkwardly fumbled to be better positioned. Fingers worked into the soft blonde locks, where they massaged his scalp in a gentle petting motion. He could have started purring, shifting his weight down a little, a comfortable pressure against Bucky’s form. They were still a little achy from battle, and moved cautiously, for fear of wounding each other. 

It felt odd to be reduced to just one arm, wanting to slide the other under his shirt and up the Captain’s toned stomach. Every now and then, he swore he could feel the sensation of his arm, but it was null. He flicked his gaze up, giving the softest of tugs to the man’s hair.   
“Bossy,” Steve teased, relenting to the directing, “What’s’matter?”   
“Take your shirt off,” It was almost said petulantly, with the same following chuckle he had done all those years ago.

This wasn’t their first time. There was once, in the war, when they stole away to a vacant part of the barracks. It was being expanded, and though this section was freshly completed, it was not yet open to the rest of the personnel on grounds. Steve - being Captain America - managed to ensure they would be undisturbed, under the guise of ‘discussing personal matters, relating to home’. And there, on one of the new beds with nothing but a pack of three Trojans and a little bottle of KY jelly, Bucky felt like he was the bride consummating her marriage. 

But both had to confess - that was the only time for either of them. So while not being strangers to the act of ‘love-making’ (or, as Steve tactfully put it - fondue-ing), they were not as well versed as they could have been. Neither minded; neither cared. It was done at their own - rather clumsy - pace. Steve shucked off his shirt, setting it aside, before aiding Bucky in the removal of his own. He lifted his arm up, and cooperated as best as possible with his boyfriend’s fumbling hands.    
  
“Do you remember that night--” The blonde questioned as he shuffled down the bed a little, dropping his head to the crook of Bucky’s neck, “--In the camp?”    
As the kisses were laid over his skin, he gave a strung out, throaty laugh, “Yes, I do. God, what a mess that was - I was glad you brought a full pack…”    
Steve nibbled at this collarbone, trying vainly to stifle a laugh, “Look - I’ve got big hands, and it’s a small packet! It’s got three of ‘em crammed in right in…”    
Though he swooned at the pouting face looking down at him now, Bucky noted, “And you dropped two of them. We didn’t need ‘em, we were both clean. Still are?”   
“‘Course,” Steve moved down a little further, nuzzling his chest, “But I thought, y’know, it’d save some mess.” 

Bucky’s laugh jerked them both, causing teeth to drag the skin of his chest. He mewled a silly ‘owch…’ as it happened, though his arm was tossed around the trunk of Steve’s neck once again.   
“I’m guessing that meant - you didn’t want to ‘spill your seed’ all over the floor when you pulled out?”   
“Well… Yeah?” He looked puzzled, as though it was a trick question. He rested his chin on the soft down of Bucky’s chest.    
“I mean, I know you threw the condoms everywhere but… Surely I should have worn one? And we wouldn’t’ve had to mess up your shirt with wiping my belly.”   
“Oh, you definitely should have, but neither of us were bright enough to think of that.” 

Drawing his tongue in stripe over his sternum, he stopped at Bucky’s collarbone, craning to see his face.   
“You’re an idiot,” Bucky teased, wrapping a leg around the back of his thighs, “I love you.”    
“I love you too,” He moved up again, catching him in a kiss as a hand found his cheek, awkwardly angling himself on an elbow. The other hand moved to his hip, where he tugged the brunette against him. 

There was a menagerie of whimpery sounds from the Soldier as he felt Steve grind his hips down on him. Through all their pleasant reminiscing, tangled in tender touches, they had both grown hard. Bucky eagerly pressed up against him, automatically moving with Steve’s gyrations. The Captain’s breath hitched in his chest, briefly pulling him out of the kiss, before he returned with fervour. He sucked and nipped at Bucky’s swollen bottom lip, sliding his hand underneath to the small of his back. 

Steve took to making some interesting sounds against his mouth; a wealth of grunts and shuddery breaths that sent shockwaves through the body beneath. He started to grow more and more handsy with Bucky, slipping his palm from the fuzz of his beard and down to his chest. Confidently thumbing a pert nipple, he reveled in the response it gave; Bucky tore the air with a sharp mewl as his cock lurched. It seemed there was no room for much in the way of delicacy. 

Clumsily, the blonde pawed at his boyfriend’s belt, tugging it loose. With a cooperative lift of his hips, he let Steve drag his bottoms and boxers down to mid thigh. The assumption had been that he would be stripped of the clothing. Nope. A level of desperation had set itself on Steve so much that he was quick to crash their lips together again, wrapping a hand around Bucky’s length and letting him thrust up against his palm.   
“Such a sweet boy…” 

Bucky awkwardly bent his arm, attempting to nudge at the waistline of Steve’s trousers.    
“Alright, alright! Bossy.”   
He chuckled against his mouth, tactlessly forcing his legwear down enough for his cock to spring free. A drop of pre spilled onto Bucky’s bare stomach, and he shivered under the heat. With little adjustment time, Steve dragged his cock over the underside of Bucky’s, frotting him. Their legs both bound by the bunched up clothing, the brunette found a struggle in hooking a leg over his calves. 

Rocking rougher against Bucky, the friction increased, forcing the topside of his cock against his belly and it's stripe of thick brown hair. Bucky shoved up against him, moving with each of Steve's desperate thrusts, laughing a little at the clumsy pacing. They were both a mess of moans and giggles, particularly when the blonde's cock slipped off of Bucky's, and dragged over his tummy. Bodies more or less flat against each other, Steve sucked bites into his boyfriend's neck, enticed by the rapidly increasing volume of his moans. The grinding was slicker over the skin, where precum mixed with the slight perspiration. 

With the grace of a man growing staggeringly close to orgasm, Steve wrapped a hand around both of their cocks, sleeving them with his warm, rough palm. Bucky locked his fingers in Steve's hair, his more vocal whines reduced into strained whimpers and gasps. Neither man had really had  _ any  _ action in a long while (including from their own fists), so it was no surprise that in an urgent trail of begging, the brunette shot a load over his tummy, smearing over it over Steve's as he fucked down against him, coming with a drawn groan into the taut and bruising skin of Bucky's neck.

Both men fell in a bit of a heap against the bed, though Steve slumped on his poor boyfriend, who managed to force him aside with a few good shoves. He wriggled to face him, reaching over Steve's side to grab for the box of tissues on the nightstand. In the quiet interrupted only by shuddery breath and quiet giggles, they cleaned each other up. Bucky wriggled to get under the blanket, holding the corner up so that the blonde could slide in beside him.

There was some fuss with sorting their clothing out, putting their bits away and getting comfortable, before Steve wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky’s middle. Snuggling up, the smaller man ducked his head into his chest, and felt Steve’s chin come to rest on top. Buck’s remaining arm draped over his waist, his hand tapping out a tune that played in his head. Things felt complete. 

“Thank you,” Drawing back, the Winter Soldier raised his head, “For not giving up on me. All that time.”    
“Even when…” Steve halted, like the thought was choking him, “Even when I thought you were dead, I couldn’t do it. You meant -  _ mean _ \- too much to me. Maybe I took things a little far with all of this, but I don’t regret it.”   
Bucky nodded, a faint smile across his lips, “It’ll all be okay - right? You, your friends, it’ll all be alright?”   
“It will. It just might take a little time.” 

Even though strain bit at his voice, the blonde believed in what he said. Time heals all wounds, and there was always the inevitability of another disaster. No doubt that they would have to reunite some time and work together to deal with the unavoidable. Besides, not all of his connections were fractured by the events; Steve was not out here on his own. The main concern was governmental tailing, and even then, he had the likes of Natasha on his side. Things would be alright.

Steve bumped their noses together, nuzzling and grinning as Bucky started to laugh. He snuck a couple of kisses, leaving one on the tip of his nose, before leaning their foreheads together.    
“Steve?”   
“Hm?”    
“I’m kinda scared.”

The grip on him tightened, and he felt his head pulled back into the Captain’s chest in a cradling hold. Steve was rocking him, soft and slow, rubbing his back in circles.    
“What are you scared of?” Perhaps unhelpfully, his voice held a frightened tone in turn.   
“I’ve been damaged a long time now. All that programming, the training, brainwashing… Steve, what if they  _ can’t  _ fix it?”   
“They can. These are the best hands for you to be in. The technology they have here is incredible.”

His reluctance to speak betrayed his skepticism.    
“Even if they can’t, which I doubt, we’ll figure it out. There’ll be some way to contain this. I promise you, Bucky. . If it comes down to it, I’ll keep you safe - from all of the things that haunt you, and from yourself if we need to.”   
“I don’t want to be a burden.”    
“You never will be,” Steve caught his chin, tugging his head up a little, holding his cheek, “For as long as I love you - you’ll never be a burden. And it’s very clear that isn’t going to change.” 


	10. Take it's broken waist in your hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-IW. Apologies for any delays in the next chapter, I'm struggling with a few health related issues at the moment, and so progress is going a little slowly. 
> 
> Feedback would be much appreciated!

Saying goodbye didn’t get any easier, but at least this was on their terms. The morning Bucky was to go into cryo, they shared some breakfast and made promises for what was yet to come. They spent a couple of hours fawning over each other, exchanging kisses and sweet nothings while the chance was still there. Steve walked him to the facility. They sat quietly as everything was prepared, Bucky’s hand clutched tightly by both of his boyfriend’s. 

“You sure about this?”    
Steve was well aware that there wasn’t a decent alternative, and as much as he wished to deter him, he knew it wasn’t wise.    
“I can’t trust my own mind.”    
“I’m gonna miss you, Buck,” The Captain’s voice warbled, and he moved a little closer, squeezing his hand, “I’ve left contact details with T’Challa, and he’ll let me know when you’re all better, alright?” 

Someone signalled that the cryo was ready. Steve was now crying, pulling Bucky into a tight embrace. This naturally set the brunette off. Natasha had wandered into the doorway, waiting for Steve, and preparing to comfort the man when it came time to go. The Super Soldiers finally pulled apart, snivelling and giving each other mournful looks. Bucky was led to the chamber, watching his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t do anything stupid before they let me out. I love you.”   
“Love you too, Buck. And you’re freezing all the stupid, I wouldn’t worry about it.”    
He came over - one last kiss - and watched as Bucky went under the freeze. With Natasha’s guidance, Steve got as far as his seat in the quinjet before he broke down in tears. None of them (Sam, Natasha, Wanda) knew what to do, and for a while, Natasha just cradled his head to her chest, and stroked his hair. 

Then began their lives on the run. There was little in the way of relaxing now, and this had its blessings. Steve was provided with almost constant distraction. In operating smaller, more secretive missions, he could lose himself in his work. He was a bit more intensely ‘mother-henning’ his acquaintances, as though differing his protective energy to them while Bucky was away. In general, he tried to remain occupied. That way, his thoughts of his dearest Buckybear were reserved for the night.

Thanks to this, Steve was never  _ really  _ well rested. He would lie in that shoddy little bed in the back of the jet, curled around a pillow, deep in thought. When he would drift into restless sleep, he would be filled with thoughts of the man. On the rare occasion, he would wake to the sensation of dark brown locks in his face, or the shuffling of a body in the sheets. He would come around to nothing more than crinkling goose down, and the rumble of the jet engine. 

He often wondered how things were going. Without the forethought to ask, Steve wouldn’t know  _ when  _ they had created a deprogramming system. Technically, he had just asked to be told when Bucky was fixed in full, and he had no real means of contact with the people in Wakanda. It was a waiting game in the worst of ways. A few months down the line, their burner phone went off.   
_ Barnes is undergoing deprogramming. Hopefully this will work, but adjustments may be needed. Will update you soon. - Shuri  _

Steve read that text hundreds of times. His heart rate skyrocketed, to a point that it was probably dangerous for a man of his ‘advanced age’. The others had expected him to cry, but it was as if he was too shocked to. He just looked around in disbelief for a while, eventually managing to text back with a ‘ _Thank you - S.’_ He was excited, optimistic, refusing to believe that it might not work out. No one wanted to correct this; no one wanted to ruin the moment for him. 

The next few nights, Steve slept like a baby. He woke up with some life to him, combing his beard in the little bathroom mirror and trimming the scragglier hairs. He had taken to eating breakfast again, and all in all seemed more ‘right’. Natasha had been reasonably concerned at one point, when the best he would manage is smoothing his hair out and eating a half assed attempt at dinner. She had never seen Steve so reluctant to maintain himself; this change in him from that one text was very welcome. 

When the phone buzzed again, the Captain could have lunged for it. He tripped over Wanda’s cardigan (which shouldn’t have been on the floor, but God forbid she picked it up), and so ended up stumbling over himself. In that delay, Natasha checked the text.    
“Oh,” She looked upset, sighing a little and frowning at Steve.    
He just stayed on the ground when he saw this, red fabric tangled in his foot, looking up hopelessly. Then, she grinned.   
“All tests clear. Non-reactive to trigger words. Non-reactive to prog. prompts. Recall accurate. All memories seemingly present. Deprog. successful.”

Just before Steve could speak, another message came through.   
“There are problems. Anxiety high. Pupils dilated. Minor tremors and convulsions. Hyperventilation. Likely overstimulation. Will monitor 24hr, ECG, temperature tests. Will send updates as and when. You may make your way down now, ready to meet him when he’s stabilized. Stealth will be provided. - Shuri.”    
The blonde clenched his jaw, “Are we alright to go?”   
Natasha nodded, “I’ll let her know.” 

The moment they landed in Wakanda, he lunged like a cobra out of the jet, and hurried to meet with Shuri.    
“You got here quick.”   
“We weren’t far,” He returned, “How is he?”   
“Reasonably stable. He requested that we sedate him - I think he’s worried about his own capacity for control - and we have given him a minor dose of something to reduce his anxiety and shaking. Come with me.” 

Only Steve and Natasha came down - the other two were busy budgeting and organising supplies. The Wakandan princess lead them to the medical facility, through a fair few keyholder only entrances, to Bucky’s suite. They’d set him up nicely, which Steve found a great relief in. It was a spacious room, with a bed, desk, and some notepads. He had a few blankets dotted about (he likely spread them out for his own amusement; he had a habit of that), and a small TV by the end of the bed. There was a little plush cat on the top of it. 

Bucky was sat on his bed, sketching something in a notebook. The door whirred, and his head shot up.    
“Hey Sh-”   
Now, he was a little sluggish from his medication, so there was a good moment where he just stared directly at his boyfriend. Steve stared back, smiling.    
Very quietly, he whispered, “Steeb.”    
The man’s snort echoed in the room as he got caught in laughter, “Hello, Bonky.” 

Steve settled himself on the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close, “How you feeling?”   
“Weird,” He mumbled, “Like my head’s too loud.”    
The Captain nodded, rubbing his side, “It’s a lot at once, hopefully you’ll be used to it soon. Do you know what the next step will be?”   
“Some therapy. When we’re all sure I’m good to go, I’ll be staying in a little village on the outskirts.” 

Shuffling on the bed, Steve moved to cup his cheek, kissing him softly and trying to block out the patronising ‘aww’s coming from the doorway. When Bucky pulled away, he was staring at him confused.   
“What’s up?”    
“You have a beard.”   
“I know, I grew it. Wait-- You just noticed?”   
“It’s nice. I like it,” Bucky raised his hand to gently scratch through the coarse hairs, “You suit it - makes you look rugged.”    
“I’m gonna go grab some coffee with Shuri - you boys alright on your own?” Natasha called.   
Bucky nodded. 

This left them alone in the room for a little bit. Bucky was quick to steal a few more kisses, before moving his legs over Steve’s lap, nuzzling into his neck.    
“Well, I’m glad what they did to you didn’t make you any less of a teddy bear.”    
“I’m glad being on the run meant you could still come and see me.”   
“I made a promise, didn’t I?” 

Steve shifted his arms so that he could lift his boyfriend up a little, moving to the head of the bed with him sat in his lap. He rocked him softly, kissing his forehead over and over.   
“You’re gonna give my forehead friction burn,” He pouted, pointing to his lips.   
“You’re so bossy,” Steve chuckled, but did as he was asked, “I love you.”   
“I love you too.” 

For a few minutes, Steve caught him up on things. Where he’d been, where they would be going, and how monotonous sitting on a quinjet for days at a time could be. There was so much he had taken for granted in this time, and now that he didn’t have access to all his previous occupations, he was having to make new things up. He confessed to Bucky about the pillow, and it made him laugh, as he explained having done the same thing.   
“Soon enough, when all this chaos is over, we’ll be able to share a bed and not think about how we have to leave each other in the morning.” 

It would be a dream come true. Back in the day, they’d discussed ideal ways to live. Collectively, they decided on a little house in the country. The home would be small - cosy - with a little fireplace in the living room. They would sit in front of the fire on a little loveseat, cuddled up under a handknit blanket with their dog settled on the oriental rug at their feet, and their cat sprawled on the back of the couch. At night, they’d steal off to their bedroom to curl up in their double bed, with the light of the moon slipping through the crack of the curtains. When morning came, they would wake to the birdsong and the rustle of leaves. 

“Have you been told much about the village?” Steve scratched the back of his boyfriend’s neck.   
He nodded, “Agricultural land, on a lake. There’s some farm animals - I was asked if I wanted that sort of thing included in the rehab, and I do. It’ll give me something to fill my day with. Routine and all.”   
“Doll, that’ll be lovely. Think they’ll let you take in any kind of pet?”   
“Shuri says there’s a lot of stray dogs around the area - people give ‘em food and they just hang around the village.”

The conversation had brought a brightness to Bucky’s eyes, and he seemed excited for his prospects. He finally had the truest freedom back - he had rule of his mind. There was hope.   
“When you’re there, I’ll try and come back to see you as soon as you’re settled - you want that?”   
“Of course!” He wriggled in his lap, peppering his cheek with kisses, “I’d be grumpy if you didn’t. I’ll see if Shuri’ll give me a phone, then we can keep in touch?”   
“Perfect.” 

Bucky flopped back on his bed, legs still tossed over Steve’s, and grinned up at him.    
“You’re an idiot. I told you, you froze the stupid with you - it’s all melting out now.”    
“You love it. How long are you here for?”   
His expression dropped, “Probably not much longer. We’ve got Sam and Wanda waiting in the jet. My guess is we’ll be going when Natasha’s back.”   
With an understanding nod, he slid his legs off of Steve’s, shuffling backwards a tad. He patted the space beside him, getting him to lie down. 

“Then let’s make the most of it.” 


	11. They've been sentenced to death by the blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in IW and EG.   
> Big warning - there is a lot revolving around grief. This is a fairly heavy chapter

Steve hated this. He felt sick. His head was reeling. Not his Bucky. Not him. Over and over he tried to convince himself that what he saw was not reality. Something went wrong. Steve had fallen to his knees. His fingers combed through the remnants; it coated his skin in a fine, powdery layer. The wet of his tears dropped down into the dirt and dust. He was gone. Really, truly, irrevocably gone. His Bucky. And the last thing that he said was his name. 

When Steve staggered to reach Vision, the full horror of the situation set in. He slumped by the greyed out vessel, falling back onto his rear, and wheezed miserably. His brain was a million miles away, and full of hopelessness. Thanos had done it. He had the stones. He took their lives. The last few stragglers of their group fell in, all wrecked with shock. Steve couldn’t even notice them. He could only manage a strained, quiet exclamation of  _ ‘Oh, God… _ ’ as it all came down like a tidal wave. 

Captain America was lost at sea. He was drowning. Land was a far cry and the water was dragging him down like he was a concrete block. The shoreline was so far that he doubted it would ever come back into sight, and the seabird cries may as well have been silent. Everything was falling apart. All of their efforts were worth naught. And there was no going back. Their friends were dead. His love was dead. 

He wasn’t coping well. Having eventually dragged themselves back home, Steve cycled through grief to an extent he never thought possible. He didn’t sleep; he slept all day. He missed meals. His moods would turn so violently that he’d beat his fists into the wall over and over, until the bloodshed and pain shot him with adrenaline, and he would collapse in a heaving pile on the floor. He would scream his lungs raw, sobbing and begging and praying like there was any hope that somehow it would reverse this.

Bring him back.

Steve had pleaded that like a mantra. They had gone through so much. Every time he had Bucky, he lost him. And now he would never have him again. They were out of time, out of chances. Steve supposed that was right; that was how things should be for men who avoided their own eras. For men who dodged death so many times that soon enough it would be unavoidable. What could he do? How could he let this happen? He would spend nights catatonic, dissociated. Others, he wouldn’t stop going.

For a little while, he threw himself into work. He wasted weeks on theorising ways to undo the snap. Ways to bring everyone back. Bring  _ him  _ back. Steve had never said enough when he had the chance. They never had the opportunity to live the lives they wanted. Their relationship was a series of snapshots so brief and intense that looking over them in his mind was agonising. He wanted it all back. 

What he wouldn’t give for just one more minute. The time to tell Bucky just how much he meant, how much he loved him, how he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. That was the one romantic sentiment in all of this; Steve was there. He got to see him as he crumbled to specks in the grass and blew away. ‘Til death do us part - they had no chance to make that vow. He choked on a sob. 

They would never get married. They would never have a wedding. They would never dance in each others arms in a great hall to the waltz they knew from their youths. All of those opportunities were gone with the wind that took Bucky’s remains. The dreams of settling down in a quiet country house were worthless ideologies. He was naive to think that he could have happiness like that. Life had torn his joy from him too many times. This was nothing new.

Looking in the mirror only made him angry. The beard his Bucky fawned over was just a reminder of his failures. He had taken to shaving once again. His old face was more ignorable; it was what he’d seen plastered everywhere when he came to this time. Steve had learned to block it out. 

Every following conversation tended towards confrontation, and with everyone a mess of emotions, it often got nasty. He’d scrapped it out with Tony on multiple occasions, and even turned against Natasha a few times. Nothing helped. But then, came hope. An idea, a consideration, something so simple in concept.   
They take the stones from Thanos.

Steve was on board with this. He needed this. Hope was a deeply dangerous thing, and they were putting all they had into odds far against their favour. But it was something. And, when it came down to it, Steve had nothing to lose anymore. Most of them were in the same shoes - except Tony.

At the time, he considered the billionaire to be selfish, putting his happiness before everyone else's - just because he had found contentedness with Pepper, that meant that no one could have theirs back. With things as they were, Steve would never have the comfort and joy of settlement. He would never know the sweetness of domesticity. Perhaps he was being bitter, but he wasn’t the only one who was smothered by their losses. 

They boarded the Benatar, and for the first time in a long while, Steve didn’t feel so hopeless.    
“This is gonna work, Steve.”    
He turned his head to Natasha with a slight smile, “I know it will. ‘Cause I don’t know what I’m going to do if it doesn’t.”   
“Well… Looking at all the other times - I don’t see you so willing to give up. We’ll get him back; we’ll get ‘em all back.” 

Hope died when Thanos’ head hit the ground.

Time lurched forward like a chained dog. It’s passing was fast but painful, and all the therapy in the world scantly soothed the ache of his loss. It had been five years now. The photo he kept of himself and Bucky had grown evermore faded, whited out in the corners and scarred in stripes across their bodies. He held it close, night after night. He took it with him everywhere. It was the last scrap. 

In spite of losing the trail they had in Thanos when he’d been alive, Steve and a few others had tried to think of a new approach. He and Natasha had spent many sleepless nights desperately theorising. Any straw, no matter how fine, was worth grasping. But they only served to break under the grip; the roads led to nowhere. Then came Scott. Ant-Man returned from the quantum realm with a rush of excitement and an idea. 

A time machine. 

And of course,  _ of course,  _ Tony was reluctant. He had too much at stake now that he had a daughter, but didn’t he see? He hadn’t lost a thing in this. Clint had lost his wife and kids to the blip; he was still devastated. Steve had attended a weekly group for those struggling with their losses; all of those people would miss out if Tony remained so self-absorbed. The Captain was aware that he was being a little unreasonable, and as time passed and Tony came around to the concept, he realised he might have judged him too harshly.

Eventually, he came around. And that was that - the Pym Particles, the suits, one round trip. It all sounded so easy on paper. Steve was on the Scepter, something he smooth-talked possession of. Having to throw in a ‘Hail HYDRA’ made his stomach turn, but it was a small price to pay. Everything was on track, wonderful. Then Steve showed up. Were this a less dire situation, he would have cracked a joke along the lines of  _ ‘I thought I was already here’ _ . 

There was something poetic in literally fighting with himself, and even more so in Bucky being his defeating words. The photo was knocked aside, to which past Steve snarled in recognition of. He decked him, and made his way to the car. 

Steve was furious when he found out they had lost the tesseract. That was one more strand of hope frayed. 

But something did occur to them; they could get the Tesseract  _ and  _ more Pym Particles. Tony and Steve went back to Camp Lehigh in the 70s. It was an odd, nostalgic stroll for Steve to have through those halls. Sure, some things had changed here between the 40s and 70s, but it was still familiar. He found himself hiding out in Peggy's office while Tony grabbed the Tesseract, chuckling and welling up at the memory Bucky had brought up in the warehouse. He wondered if there were any traces left of their encounter, but had to bolt before he had a chance to investigate. 

That was it; all the stones. They could undo it all. Everyone stood with baited breath as the iron gauntlet expanded around Bruce’s hand. Shields were raised, masks donned, everyone readied themselves for the potential recoil. Barn door protocol; it made this situation much more menacing. Steve could feel the sweat raise on his brow, anxiety skyrocketing. Last ditch attempt. Bruce snapped his fingers, through the agony of the glove and the lightning through his skin. He fell to the ground; Steve joined him at his side. It worked.

All the joy from the success disappeared as fast as the windows were shot through by a ship. The ground rumbled with the force of an earthquake, and all that nervousness in Steve ramped up into violent fright. The floor fell through. Ash and flame struck the air in a rolling boom. Fire bloomed amid the rubble; the skies were swallowed by soot and exhaust fumes. In a matter of moments, the countryside where the Avengers Complex stood was turned to charred earth and debris. 

Steve had blacked out. He came around to Tony’s boot in his shin and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. His head reeled, and he gasped like a man pulled from the water.    
“What happened?” The Captain wasn’t with it, not initially appreciative of the shield returned.   
“We messed with time. It tends to mess back. You’ll see.”    
Tony helped to pull him up from the wreckage, and they reconvened with Thor. 

Thanos was here. And he had done… nothing. He was just sitting there by his weapon he’d stuck into the ground. The three had no idea where the stones were, but they knew that Thanos didn’t have them - that was the important thing. He was goading them, luring them into a trap, but there was little alternative. The fight with the eugenicist began. Thanos was strong, and faster than he could think, Steve was launched aside. 

At no point had he expected this to work, but he had to give it a try. He could recall, very vaguely, at the party - the shift of the hammer on the table. It was discreet, but it was there. And he had to do something to save Thor, whose Stormbreaker was bared down at him. It worked. With great force, Steve whipped Mjolnir at Thanos. With hammer and shield, he struck at Thanos with a weighty force, unrelenting and cruel. For everything that vile creature had done to them, he wanted to beat him within an inch of his life. Lightning slammed his purple skin. 

One wrong move, and Steve was seized. From the ground, he found his footing, but his leg was sliced by Thanos’ blade. Mjolnir was forced from his hand. The blade came down on his shield, and cut a few inches through like it was nothing. A chunk was ripped away. Thanos swung again and again, until only a mangled half of the shield was left, and Captain America was on the ground. He was ragdolled away, and he fell back against the dirt.

A rare occurrence in Steve’s mind; he questioned if this was viable. He was having doubts about the possibility of victory. Strewn on the ground like a child’s toy, he found himself dizzy and out of breath. Blood dripped from his sinuses into the back of his throat, and he gasped with a desperate need for breath, head tipped aside. This couldn’t be it. People were depending on him, on the remaining few heroes who stood on this battlefield, and he couldn’t give in. Bucky needed him. The snap would have brought him back. 

With every ounce of strength he could give, the Brooklyn boy forced himself onto his belly, up onto his elbows, hissing as agony struck him. Thanos brought in reinforcements. This was hopeless, his rational mind gnawed at him. Troop after troop came. Aircrafts and leviathans clogged the sky. Thanos looked down on him like he was nothing. He couldn’t give up; he could not fold. Steve shoved himself to his weary legs, ignoring the lick of pain from the slice the blade had left. He tightened his shield with a snarl. Who would he be if he just relented? He hobbled a lonely man towards the sadistic goliath.

Then - he heard it. 

“Cap - it’s Sam. Can you hear me? On your left.”    
Steve’s breath left him when he heard his voice. He staggered awkwardly, looking to his left, and his eyes were caught by the light. Portals. T’Challa. Okoye. Shuri. His eyes welled with tears. Sam whipped through the air on his metal wings. More portals. All his teammates, friends, companions - they came pouring out. In this hell that he had been living for five years, there was finally relief. A grin came across his mucky face; he was crying with joy. He saw him. Bearded, scowling face, shaggy brown hair, shimmering metal arm and gun in his hand. His Bucky. He was safe. Thank God, he was safe. And he was there. Morale was back. He called Mjolnir.

“Avengers! Assemble.” 


	12. It's yours now

The fight had come to a close; the tyrant was dead. Steve had just bid a fond farewell to Natasha who was now on her way to Russia, wanting to see her ‘family’. Tony, though currently in a bad condition, was getting better by the day. With assistance, he could walk around a little bit, and he was no longer attached to life support. Peace was returning to the planet, and though there was a lot of cleanup left to do, the menace was gone. Everybody was back.

Including his Bucky. 

Since the reversal of the Snap, Steve refused to leave his boyfriend’s side. He’d fawned incessantly over him for days following the battle, and it had been well appreciated. The recipient could be awfully attached anyway, and God had he missed him. Though the decimation felt like mere minutes for Bucky, that was hell enough. He couldn’t come close to fathoming how Steve had felt through the full five years. It must have been so lonely. 

As the dust settled, the two had taken up in a small rural house, where they would stay until they found themselves the 'dream home'. This place was pleasant, with a small wood burning stove in the living room, and a comfortable, cosy bed. Neither man had known happiness like this. Bucky curled around Steve's back, nose buried in the nape of his neck as he listened to the rhythmic ebb and flow of his breathing. Occasionally, it was cut short by the low rumble of a snore. He fumbled awkwardly to pull the blanket in closer, tucking him in. For an hour or so, Bucky drifted in and out of sleep, yawning against the fuzz of Steve's hairline, until the blonde stirred. He rolled onto his back with a dozy grin.

The birds chirped their morning song through the breeze, playing an echo that carried itself down through the small village. Sheep bleated to each other as they wandered into their paddocks, ready to graze on the dewy grass. Alpine stretched his long white body as he moved from the foot of his owner's bed and relocated to the windowsill. His nose was practically up against the glass as he chattered at the sweeping blackbirds. Steve's head fell to the side, looking over at the cat as the bizarre squeaks and clicks grew louder.

"Doesn't seem all that fussed by moving all the way from Wakanda, does he?" The blonde mused.  
"I doubt he's even noticed. As long as he gets his dinner, he's a happy cat."  
"He'd be  _ much  _ happier if he remembered the catflap," Steve was cut off by the laughter ensuing when the cat jumped up against the window.

Alpine wasn’t the only happy one here. They were living in an exhale, in the sand when the tide had finally receded from the shore. The chaos of their lives was in remission. Both knew that, sooner or later, something would crop up again. True serenity was an impossibility in the lives of superheroes, but nothing could outdo the prior torment life had tried them with.

Today, there were things to do. Steve would be taking the Infinity Stones back to where they belonged - there wasn’t much more time to put it off.    
“I don’t feel like getting up,” The Captain grumbled, “Is that bad?”   
Bucky laughed, “Not really. I’ve liked our lie-ins.”    
“We’ll have more.” 

Steve had his plans. As much as he wanted to share them with Bucky beforehand, he wanted it to be a surprise. It was hard not to blab. He managed to pull himself out of the bed, stretching large and stumbling over to the dresser. Bucky rolled onto his tummy, watching him with a sweet smile. Instead of a pleasant reply, he had a pair of boxers thrown to his face.   
“Go on, get dressed, doll.” 

The two of them got themselves ready to meet Bruce in the woods. Steve had to do himself up in his Captain America gear, which was a hassle, but the way his boyfriend ran his hands over the scales of his suit somewhat made up for it. Bucky pouted up at him, tipping his head up as Steve zipped the black bomber jacket up to the top, snug to the man’s fuzzy chin. There were a few kisses exchanged before they left the house (between the men, and their snoozing cat). 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind coming through here on walks,” Bucky mused, fingers locked with Steve’s as they made their way to the platform.   
Steve was given the rundown by Bruce regarding returning the stones - the  _ exact  _ moment. If he got it wrong, then that would open up a whole wealth of troubles. Very reassuring. As he wandered up to the panel, he was tailed by his doggish brunette. 

Arms around his middle, Steve pulled him in close, kissing his head and nuzzling his shaggy hair.    
“I’m gonna miss you,” Bucky mewled.   
“I’ll be five minutes, tops. And when I come back… There’s something I need to do.”   
The Wolf was confused, nervously looking up at him. What did that mean?   
"Don't worry, okay, doll? It's nothing bad."   
He was left with a gentle kiss, and Steve was gone. 

He was right - he was only a couple of minutes. Bucky's eyes lit up when he saw him, though the expression fell as he watched him wander straight to a bench. Bucky footed cautiously after, tailed by Sam. As Steve settled, his boyfriend noticed a round bag by the side of the bench, and it all clicked. He turned to Sam with a smile, ushering him over. 

From his place in the grass by an old oak tree, Bucky watched the shield change hands. It was wonderful to see, especially when Sam had a double take, eyes wide and initially declining. At a point, Steve was jabbing him playfully with the shield until he took it.    
“You sure about this?”   
He nodded, smiling, “I’ve served my time long enough now. Time for me to settle down.” 

Steve beckoned his boyfriend over to join them, and he gave Sam a congratulatory hug. He stood by Steve’s side, ruffling his hair.   
“Sorry for springing it on both of you, though.”   
“Do I get one of those?” Sam gestured towards Bucky, “A sidekick, not him specifically.”   
“I’d hope not.”   
“Bucky! But, if you can find one, yeah.” 

That was a loose end tied up in Steve’s mind, and a huge weight off of his shoulders. They bid some temporary farewells as the oldies drove off, eager to settle back in.    
“You’re alright with this, yeah?” The blonde asked, patting a hand on Bucky’s lap.   
“Of course I am. I’m glad, if I’m honest. We finally have a chance to just…”   
“Live.”   
“Exactly.” 

The drive home was happy, with Steve giving a surprising spiel of all things he hoped to do now. Bucky offered for them to look for a new place, which he eagerly took up. The former Captain mentioned wanting a dog, and perhaps working on the garden in the new place. God knows that, in spite of retiring, Steve couldn’t just stop and relax. He was never truly capable of it. That was part of why Buck loved him. 

Bucky couldn’t complain. Though he was content to lay back and finally enjoy a calm life, he looked forward to all the things they would do together. His heart leapt joyfully; the hardships had all been worth it. When they pulled into their driveway, they could see Alpine stretch and jump down to meet them at the door.    
“Daddy’s good lil man, aren’t ya?” Bucky scooped the cat up, offering him out to Steve.   
“We’ll get you a nice place with a barn,” Steve scratched his chin, “You can catch all the mice you want.” 

Within a few weeks, they found themselves the ideal home. Agricultural land, a small farm plot, near a river. The place wasn’t too far from the village they were in before, meaning they still had good access for grocery shopping. Though they were on a reasonably large expanse of land (accommodating the house, barn, and small pens), the home itself was quaint. Alpine happily settled himself in the new place, flitting between the couch and the bedroom most of the time. 

Steve got his way in regards to the dog. They got a rescue mutt, who eagerly filled the fantasy of curling up by the fire in the evenings. Thankfully, said dog got along with Alpine, and after cohabiting for a while, the cat would  _ occasionally  _ allow the dog into his own bed. It took awhile for people in the village to set aside their pre-conceptions of the former ‘superhero’ pair, and treat them as normal. 

Before they knew it, summer rolled around. With the heat, they spent a great while lolling about in the sunshine, taking trips to the beach and visiting their former team mates. In amongst all the friendliness, Bucky had been stealthily planning some things with a now healthier Tony Stark. 

It was coming up for the 4th of July. That was a special day - Steve’s birthday (and Independence Day, but Bucky had his priorities.) He had been making some slight, suggestive comments to the Iron Man, hoping to plant the seeds of a party in his mind. Tony knew from the start what he wanted, but it was funny watching Bucky attempt to be subtle. Ever the business man - even in his own retirement - Tony agreed to the party, supposing that in exchange, they would babysit Morgan while he and Pepper were away. 

The party was organised so that it tailored almost exactly to Steve’s interests. He didn’t like anything too big, or busy, so they’d settled on  _ just  _ friends attending. A manned bar counter would be ideal, with some more highbrow whiskeys. The blonde couldn’t get drunk, but he adored the taste. A vintage theme wouldn’t have gone amiss, something Bucky initially stated in passing, before something clicked with him. He scribbled down some ideas on a notepad, and Tony took a photo for his own reference. There was little point - he had to call in Natasha to decipher the handwriting. 

Steve was told a week before the event that it would be happening. He tried the old ‘you shouldn’t have’, but Bucky gave him those big, pleading eyes, and he soon crumbled. It was clear that Buck wouldn’t be putting himself or others out for his enjoyment, and he had to admit, he was looking forward to it. He also found himself oddly touched that Bucky arranged it to be on the 3rd of July, so that they could have the night of his birthday together. Steve had always preferred it that way, finding the celebration more intimate. 

Plus, this way, everyone (or at least, the less hungover people) could still attend Clint and his family’s barbeque the next afternoon. Everything had been meticulously arranged. Steve helped him to pick out an ideal outfit, having a bit of a soft spot for dressing his boyfriend up. Bucky leaned more towards a ‘wear whatever’s clean’ mentality, so it was probably a good thing that the birthday boy would be choosing. 

It was a semi-formal party. Steve went with a deep blue button up, accompanied by black slacks and an open faced blazer. Due to the heat, said blazer had rolled up cuffs. Bucky, who could get grouchy if he was too hot, had been dolled up in a short sleeved shirt with press studs for fasteners, and some new, charcoal toned jeans. He had the  _ option  _ of a blazer for himself, but being as heat-fussy as he was, Steve was just keeping it in his bag. 

Everyone was dressed in similar attire - comfortable, but not lazy. A great deal of hugs were exchanged, with particular affection between the two men and Natasha. She filled them in on her family, on Alexei - who was now playing his role of the Red Guardian again, and how things were going in general. Her gift to Steve had been some things for the pets, and a vintage watch. While he loved the watch, he was a little more excited about how much Alpine would like his new catnip mouse. 

Things played on cheerfully with a toast to the man of the hour. As it grew later, the summer sunset receded to the white speckled blue of the night. A clear sky let the moonlight spill into the lounge room. A record player had been churning out some  _ classics _ in the background of the party, and when the company was one more sheet to the wind, the atmosphere was changed. Music atoned to a slow dance was switched in, and there were a few silly pair ups. Namely, Sam and Clint - who received taunts about both being bird related in name. 

Steve, being the wet blanket he was, wouldn’t dance. He stayed in his seat by the bar, boyfriend beside him, chuckling at the others as he sipped down his drink. The bemused observation was cut short when a familiar tune spilled out of the speaker.  _ Roses of the South.  _ Their song from the war. His gaze flicked immediately to Bucky, who had shuffled down from the bar stool, and offered out his hand.

“May I have this dance?”    
“Of course.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are - the end of the fic! Thank you to everyone who has followed along, to everyone who comes across this later, and to all of those who left feedback. This has been a real journey and a hell of a project to keep up with. 
> 
> Thoughts and feedback are much appreciated. You can find me on tumblr at magnusprincess if you would like to get in touch!


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